


The Armor in Our Lives

by Sketchione



Series: Galar, the Great and Wonderful [9]
Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters: Sword & Shield | Pokemon Sword & Shield Versions
Genre: Bea's parents, Big Sisters, Character Study, Despair, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fluff and Angst, Gen, Growing Up, Onion | Allister and Saitou | Bea are Siblings, Personal Growth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2020-07-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:22:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25081573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sketchione/pseuds/Sketchione
Summary: Bea's life has always been on the straight and narrow. Her parent's dreams are her dreams, their thoughts are her thoughts. The goal? Become the best gym leader in the League.Travelling to the Isle of Armor to study under Mustard, the former champion, was an innocuous enough idea.Bea is 6 years old when she is first sent away. Bea is 6 when the threads of fate begin to change.A journey detailing the young Bea's trials and tribulations not limited to: A dojo master who appears from nowhere, an uppity psyhic, a two-faced poison trainer, and a ghostly boy who seemingly dropped out of the sky.A prequel to 'Bea-ing a Sister'.
Relationships: Onion | Allister & Saitou | Bea
Series: Galar, the Great and Wonderful [9]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570714
Comments: 4
Kudos: 79





	The Armor in Our Lives

Bea is 6 before she first questions her parents. They have always led by example, and a good example at that. She had no reason to doubt anything they have ever said to her before.

 _‘Eat your vegetables, they’re good for you’_ or _‘your training comes before all else’_

While the bodies of their peers continue to weaken and erode with age, her parents stand steadfast in spite of Time’s pull. All the training they have put her through, they have gone through themselves. Not a day slips by on which they too are honing their skills.

Both physically and mentally they have never been anything but the ideal role models for the young Bea. But what they have just told her is…unexpected.

“You’re…sending me away?”

“Are you questioning our decision?”

Bea doesn’t need to (and doesn’t) look up to meet her mother’s gaze. She can almost hear the raise of the eyebrow; Bea shakes her head, folding her arms to match her legs crossed on the floor.

“No.”

“If you have any reservations, you make speak as you wish. Something we have perhaps overlooked is not impossible even with our depth of training.”

“I…”

Bea’s father has told her just that on more than one occasion, yet the young girl has never seen reason to ever take him up on it.

Her parents have been training for longer than she has been alive. They found each other on their respective gym challenges and have been pushing themselves past their limits since then: They are everything she strives to be.

“This training you want me to undergo…isn’t it something you could teach me yourselves? I have learned so much from you both but I am still nowhere near your level.” The young Bea clenches her fists on reflex, now meeting her parent’s eyes. “Is there really no more you can teach me?”

Bea’s mother nods to her husband before continuing. They barely need to even talk to communicate. Just one more thing the girl on the floor is inspired by.

“We understand that avenue of thought, daughter, and we have given this a great deal of thought.”

“Though it is true you have a great deal more to gain from training with us, we believe that this opportunity will provide you even greater rewards. Your mind and body will be pushed far beyond that of an ordinary person, be they trainer or otherwise.”

“Who could teach me more effectively than you already have?”

Bea clenches her fists again, her father making a note of it to bring up later: habits, be they nervous or otherwise, should be ironed out as fast as possible.

If their daughter is to succeed in being the best of the best, then her subconscious will need to perform as well as her waking mind. Battles are won and lost in the blink of an eye. A storm gives no second chances.

When their daughter is ready, neither will she.

“While we appreciate your faith in our teachings, my daughter, this training will be like no other. Your faith in us it not misplaced, but we cannot give you everything you will need to be the best.”

“It will be with Master Mustard of the Isle of Armor’s Dojo,” Bea’s mother continues. “He is a former Pokémon League champion in our region, as you well know.”

“I see.”

The two watch as their daughter soaks in this new information. Contemplating but ultimately coming to the same conclusion they have in record time.

“I’ll do it.”

Another knowing glance is shared between her mother and father, their daughter’s sharpened mind proving its utility as ever.

“Master Mustard had an unbroken record of 18 years and has set many more that his successor has yet to beat. He is the ideal teacher for you. Our daughter deserves only the best.”

“I’m honoured you have such faith in me, mother and father.” Bea bows from where she is sitting, though her emotions are in check as always. “I will try to-“ Bea catches herself immediately, straightening up. “-I **_will_** make you both proud of me.”

Bea is but 6 and has yet to learn what pride truly is. How it feels in a heart or how it weighs on one’s shoulders. Bea is but 6 but knows somewhere in her minds recesses that it will never be enough for her parents.

She could blow every other student out of the water and be marked only ‘acceptable’. Pride is a feeling, but pride is also a choice. Bea’s parents have never chosen anything other than that which makes their daughter stronger in battle.

Giving praise would make her complacent and unlikely to strive for more (so goes their reasoning). Emotions can cut deep and inflict wounds that can never heal.

Best to make sure their daughter is immune to such nonsense. If she ever loses a battle it will be due to her own failings, never trickery of the mind.

“Though you might think you’re too young or inexperienced, the dojo accepts only the best. Our training has seen to that. However, some of Galar’s most enterprising and talented children have been accepted too. You will not be alone in your strength and you will have to work to stand out.”

It is an unspoken rule that the young Bea’s parents do not believe in talent. Under no circumstances. Their daughter, nor anyone, has any innate ability.

Hard work and discipline are the true paths to enlightenment and there are no shortcuts.

“Future League trainers, officials, sports players, and aspiring gym leaders like yourself will be the norm. Make a note of those who appear the strongest.”

“I will overcome any and all obstacles. If I fail I will reflect, meditate, and train until I destroy them.”

“A satisfactory answer. Though there may be those with a head start, your work ethic will enable you to thrive under the Master’s tutelage.”

Bea does not question how likely it is any child sent to the dojo has a head start on her. Ever since she could walk she has been able to punch a punching bag. She cannot even remember a time where she hasn’t known the basics of Galarian Karate.

Bea also does not focus on the fact that she too has been accepted despite the competition. The honour of her placement and the fact she must have beaten several other candidates because of her skills goes amiss.

Bea does not contemplate why exactly it is she wants to become a gym leader, other than her parents telling her it is the path she is now walking. Their words are enough for her, her guiding light on a path with many temptations.

Bea instead focusses on the news that there will be many strong opponents for her to face; a real challenge at last.

“I will be staying on the island over the summer then. While school is on break.” Not a question but a statement. It is logical and her parents are nothing if not logical.

“Correct, my daughter. 2 months of training before the school year begins again. A welcome break, wouldn’t you say?”

It is a forgone conclusion and Bea’s father does not expect his daughter to answer.

His wife and he have not instructed their daughter particularly academically, though they have taught her effectively enough to do fine in her schoolwork. Their priorities were always elsewhere (as if the living room filled with punching bags and blocks of wood for her to cleave in two weren’t enough of a giveaway).

“I am prepared for anything.”

“Overconfidence will breed mistakes, daughter. Apart from us, you have never trained against another person. It will be a jump in difficulty for you.”

“You should also be mindful of those who would sway you from your chosen path.”

Bea furrows her brow, reflecting on the delivery of her mother and father’s words.

While it was true she’d never fought anyone else (being too young for even her parents excessive work ethic to consider letting her train with Machop or Tyrogue), it wasn’t what had her attention.

_People may…try and lead me astray? If the Isle of Armor dojo is as exclusive as I’m led to believe then what could they mean? Won’t we all share the same goals?_

“I will bear this in mind, thank you for your wisdom.” Bea bows again, but the gears are continuing to turn.

Being ever vigilant of her surroundings or people who may want to cause her harm is something so basic the young Bea does as much whether she realises or not. To an outsider, ‘naturally suspicious’ seems to encompass the young Bea’s personality.

There is truth to the words, she reasons, but she still wouldn’t trade it for being blindsided at any time.

“You leave tomorrow at first light. Currently the only train that leads to the Taxi pickup is in Wedgehurst.”

“Wedgehurst.” If you had asked anyone in Galar where the sleepy village of Wedgehurst was a few months ago, they wouldn’t have the had the foggiest idea.

Then a boy of 10 hailing from that very town went and became the champion. One of Mustard’s own students at that. Bea reasons that was why the trains were set up the way they were.

Tourism at its finest, even if it was inconvenient for everyone else.

“I should pack as soon as I can then.” Bea rises quickly, nearly springing up in place.

Her parents say nothing for nothing needs to be said. Their assent to her decision was less of an agreement and more of an obvious conclusion to the train of thought.

The young Bea turns to go but stops herself before returning to her bedroom. Her parents remain silent and have anticipated the question already.

“If I remain on the Isle of Armor for the two months then I will be apart from you both for that period. Do you…think I am ready?”

“Dear daughter-“ Bea’s father places a hand to her shoulder in a seldomly given gesture of assurance. “-We have faith. You cannot be dependent on us forever if you are to be truly great.”

An oxymoron in terminology, as their daughter has been raised to be fiercely independent of any outside influences, yet always at their command should they ask of her.

Still, the young Bea translates the words in her own terms and accepts what she’s told. Brushing the hand off of her shoulder, she resumes her appointed task and goes to pack.

Bea is 6 when her parents send her away to the Isle of Armor to train over the summer.

Though they have been careful to dissolve any seeds of doubt planted into her mind by outside sources, their shared flaw of hubris has left the seeds they’ve planted themselves untouched.

Bea is 6 when she first questions her parents. No matter how minor, the iron grip of their ideals has the most imperceptible crack.

* * *

Bea is 6 when she first trains on the Isle of Armor and meets Master Mustard.

Her first impression of him is…less than impressive. For someone her parents had talked up to be a living legend, he sure didn’t act like one.

 _Be mindful, Bea,_ she chides mentally. _If you judge too hastily then you invite mistakes in your actions._

However the weeks go by and the dojo master does nothing to sway her initial impression. A simple, silly old man with a penchant for terrible jokes and sitting on his couch watching daytime TV or playing games.

Sure his wife, Honey, had warned her and the group of exactly that, and to not be taken in by his act but Bea was unconvinced it was an act at all.

If anything his continued actions were just reinforcing her view that lack of training leads to gluttony and weakness.

Some of the other students share her concerns but they are not ever voiced by herself, for Bea is ever wary of anyone who could gain an insight into her mind. Making it hard to tell what she’s thinking gives her a distinct edge in battle.

None of the students stand out to her. Sure at least _they_ are as strong as she was informed they would be, but none of them overbearingly so. Ages ranging from hers to late teens from all walks of life. All strong. All just yet more obstacles to overcome.

Bea has faith that given the push she could have bested any of them in combat.

She has certain reasons for wanting to do so against some of them, much as her influence by base desires upsets her.

Apparently she’s ‘weird’ and ‘emotionless’ and ‘just no fun to talk to’. Bea doesn’t understand why exactly that bothers her. It’s not like she hasn’t interacted with people before. School necessitates as much.

She’s already been asked more times than she cares to remember why she isn’t wearing any shoes. When her classmates strip down to play on the beach in their downtime, they avoid the shingles as much as possible.

The young Bea has no such weakness. Only wearing shoes due to it being part of her school dress code, she is barefoot most of the time otherwise. It improves her stance and connection with the land; if she wants to dig in her heels there is no better way.

So say her parents, and she has no reason to doubt them. Like in everything else, they lead by example.

Though she was still young and her feet uncalloused, in time they would toughen enough for her to be able to walk over jagged rock unobstructed.

Even the splinters left behind from breaking her wood planks at home are an excellent material to help toughen her soles.

Any advantage is a good advantage.

Little things like that were common place for her, from her training uniform having patches sewn on (by herself no less) due to wear and tear, to her perpetually blank expression and sharp eyebrows that apparently made it look as though she’s perpetually frowning.

Their words mean nothing to Bea in the end, for strength of body and mind are the only metrics a person can be judged by. If they can’t best her in single combat, then their opinions are forfeit.

It was a lie she told herself, that she didn’t care what anyone else thought. It was more correct that she heard what was said but actively chooses to ignore it.

_I can’t let those weaker than me get a say in how I behave. My parents would be disappointed._

Perhaps without the fear that she would tell a teacher, she was easy pickings for kids with nothing better to do?

It made sense enough.

Honey wasn’t scary enough to inspire anyone to really stay in line and the Master…? Well, he didn’t seem to know what he was doing.

His idea of drills and training were hard, but for all the wrong reasons.

“…and then he had us chase some Slowpoke around? What was he thinking?”

“It was just whack, not what I expected when I signed up for this.”

“At least the food is good…”

Bea isn’t eavesdropping by any means. More…listening in on a conversation she wasn’t taking part in. The other kids were just saying things aloud that she kept hidden away.

“Hey, whozit’re we listening to?”

“G-gah!”

Bea has been so wrapped in her own thoughts she hasn’t heard anyone sneak up on her. Careening to the ground, it is a near miracle that the other kids hadn’t heard her fall. Or maybe it’s her own choice of hiding place behind one the trees that granted her such respite?

That was the theory anyway. Clearly practice had other ideas.

“Whoa now! Looks like you got the quite the fright, lass. I do apologise. Up with ye.”

In her daze Bea accepted the hand offered to her without a second thought. She froze for a second time when it became obvious that the Master himself was the one pulling her up; Bea quickly straightens herself and bows.

“Apologies, Master. That won’t happen again.”

“Ehehehe, quite the formal one aren’t you? At ease, soldier. I’m not here to get in the way of the kiddies gossiping.”

She is perturbed by Mustard’s goofy grin but is careful to not let it show. She bows again, clasping her hands together.

“A good trainer is always prepared. I should have been ready for you.” Quite how she managed to miss him sneaking up is a different matter altogether. Her ears, just like every part of her, have been honed to near perfection.

_But near isn’t good enough._

“Ah, you think if someone trains to be perfect they’ll never lose?” Mustard leans against the tree the young Bea was hiding behind. He doesn’t seem interested in what the other kids are talking about, at least to Bea. That meant his attention was on her.

_An opportunity to impress him one to one. I can’t mess this up._

“That’s how I see things. How can someone perfect ever lose?” Bea nods up and down vigorously as she speaks, hair flopping over her face. Her parents tell her she will need a headband when she’s older. She agrees.

“Interesting, interesting!” Mustard claps his hands with a childish glee and again Bea wonders whether this is really the dojo Master or just a test from the real one. “So what if two perfect people meet in battle?”

“I…” Bea has an entire speech prepared in her head, courtesy of her parents of course, about the value of stamping out mistakes and pushing beyond her limits; it evaporates as the elderly man’s question pierces straight through her constructed defences.

“There we go,” he says, producing a Pecha berry from seemingly nowhere. “If we were _all_ perfect _all_ the time then battles would be a good old-fashioned coin toss, haha!”

Before Bea knows what has happened she’s been given the berry, and the master is on his way.

“Think on that, my student! Things would be super-duper boring if it was all down to luck.”

She watches him leave, eyeing the students who make way and bow as he opens the door to the dojo. The berry in her hand feels warm, but perfectly ripe.

Her parents have no idea of it, but the young Bea has weakness for all things sweet. Perhaps not too farfetched for a child to have, but surely not their own. Something overlooked in favour of harsher drills has blossomed spectacularly into a love of candy.

“Could…could the Master have known?” Bea bites into the berry hesitantly after checking it for bruises. As the sugary juices invade her taste buds, she has to concede the gift is a welcome one.

Besides, her own arms have bruises enough from the training.

Tempting as it was to punch herself in the arm for such a lapse in concentration in allowing him to sneak up, she would just run extra laps.

“No, it isn’t possible. Even high level psychics cannot read minds with any accuracy. It must be a fluke. Most kids do like sweets. Even me.”

The young Bea feels small as the words escape her lips. She is just another kid, isn’t she? How is she different to anyone else here; her resolve hardens back up immediately, defensive walls rising in place.

“But I will surpass them all. My training is absolute, and they mean nothing. No one does.”

Bea is 6 when Master Mustard first plants ideas in her head that she doesn’t yet understand. Ideas that her and her parent’s worldview are the not absolute they would have her believe.

* * *

Bea is 6 when she finally understands why so many people want to come to the Isle of Armor. The silly old man Honey had warned them about can drop his act on command and become the Galarian champion of his prime.

The students (herself included Bea shamefully admits) had all thought he had lost it in his old age. That he was just a crazy and kooky old man who liked his wife’s cooking a little too much. He was anything but.

“Gather around, students, gather around!” Mustard has called them to the Dojo early today. Never a problem for the young Bea. Earlier is better. “We have some super special guests with us here today. Say that we’re cheesed to meet them!”

The two men bow deeply to the Master, as per their respect demands. The students bow in turn, but only a few mumble out the ridiculous greeting.

The men are the top ranked gym trainers in the Hammerlocke gym. Hammerlocke is historically the final hurdle before the Champion cup, and for good reason: only the best are handpicked by the dragon type leader themselves.

Tall, intimidating, and confident; _they_ are truly the inspiring ones when placed next to the Master who slouches lazily without a care in the world.

Their Pokémon are legendary in strength too, a Dragapult and a Duraludon. Extremely difficult to come by and even harder to train. Only the most exceptional of trainers stand a chance of earning their respect, and Bea knows full well the only way to be successful in battle is to have your Pokémon respect you.

“Ask me why I called these two fine gentlemen here, someone?”

A nameless face in the crowd asks him when silence attempts to take hold.

“Why to battle, of course! I know most of you aren’t old enough to have a Pokémon of your own yet but a demonstration will be good.”

Bea’s ears prick up instantly, as do many of the others.

_A battle? Can the Master really compete with them?_

_“_ And not just any battle, ohoho no! It will be two on one against my goodself.” The phrase ‘pleased as cheese’ would not have been the descriptor Bea would have liked to use to describe Mustard’s grin, yet it somehow fit.

 _Now_ the crowd was perking up for real, whispers whirling around back and forth as the Master leads the group outside to the training grounds.

Bea has heard the rumours but never thought anything by it. The older trainers had been saying the matron, Honey, was close to the Master’s equal in battle; she had thought that a little sad.

_If he really is only as strong as the woman who cooks our meals, then this battle will be over quickly._

To Bea’s credit, it was. Less than a minute had gone by after Mustard had sent out his Kubfu and both trainer’s Pokémon had been knocked out.

He was an entirely different person to the extent Bea was still unsure if Mustard and the Master were really the same person. She couldn’t deny the evidence of her own eyes.

He’d obliterated them with a Pokémon that hadn’t even evolved yet. His gaze was firm, his stance agile, and his commands fluid and lightning quick. The match had been over before it had begun.

“Heehee, it’s been two weeks since you all arrived but I had yet to offer you any real meat to dig into! I hope your thirsts are all quenched, I’m certainly in need of a nice pot of tea, no?”

With that he is gone, a surge of conversation overtaking the crowd as the Hammerlocke trainers recall their Pokémon.

With the crowd around her, Bea fades herself away to corners of the room to sit and think, unaware the Master is observing her from the living room.

 _Those gym trainers never underestimated him as I did. They were focused and still were blown away._ _They gave him respect. The respect he deserves. I was too quick to judge, the Master has clearly not lost his touch._

Bea closes her eyes, tuning the world out as she meditates on this.

_Were the rumours still right? If so, reverse the situation. It is not a question of how weak the Master is, but just how absurdly strong is the Matron? Neither of them look particularly strong. My parents have always said your image is everything. Are they…_

Even in meditation Bea does not dare to finish the thought. There must be an alternative explanation. Her parents are never wrong.

Bea is 6 when she decides that coming to the Isle of Armor was the correct decision. Now that she knows the Master’s power, she would have to try even harder to impress him.

* * *

Bea is 7 when she returns to the Dojo, the school year having come and went.

She is still without a Pokémon to use, but her parents promise her that it will soon be time. Bea doesn’t know how she will ever impress the Master without a partner at her side; she surveys the dojo for her competition this summer.

Unlike the last time, there is one trainer who stands out. A taller boy with flowing blond hair and a hat. Though he stands tall and proud, Bea can feel the anger radiating off his body from where she stands. His face is twisted nastily as he levitates a pokéball with ease.

_A psychic. Overcoming someone with a type match up would set me apart._

Bea knows the social custom is to greet someone new…and does just that. She strides over, noticing his scowl as if interrupting him is height of annoyance.

“Can I help you?”

“My name is Bea, you seem to be strong.”

The boy’s expression softens a little, though he still looks rather stern as he towers over her.

“Really?” He coughs into his gloved hand slightly, adjusting his glasses with the other. “I mean, of course! I knew it would only be a matter of time before someone recognised my talent here.”

Bea is 7 when she meets Avery for the first time. They trade pleasantries, his formal style of speaking thankfully being an easy mirror to her own. He too has something to prove, though is far worse at hiding it than Bea has become accustomed to.

She later learns his full story by way of the dojo gossip. Bea doesn’t question there is gossip surrounding herself, but does not find herself caring.

Avery is 3 years her senior and was allegedly kicked out of the gym challenge for levitating another trainer who bested him. Bea can see his power firsthand, though a clear lack of restraint had been his undoing.

_If one’s mind is not in balance with their body, they can crumble under pressure. Avery is an example if I ever needed one._

Bea watches the weeks go by and her new acquaintance continues to cause friction with the other trainers. His dogged, poorly concealed need to prove his superiority just rubs everyone the wrong way.

She watches as he storms off in a huff, making his way down to the beach during the evening light. Yet another student has rejected his offer of a battle. It isn’t even whether they would win or lose, Bea has come to realise; they just don’t like _him_.

“You should go after him.”

“…”

Bea jumps but doesn’t say anything. The Master’s footsteps are silent on the dirt path but it is still no excuse.

“Hello, Master.” She bows but is waved off nonchalantly.

“Heh, and here was me thinking I might not be able to get the drop on you this time, young Bea. Lucky for me you were distracted or I’d have been toast.”

Bea isn’t sure what he means by that. By now he is fully aware of who she is and who her parents are, but she doesn’t know the depth of it. He keeps the knowledge of his students closely guarded. Perhaps that she is known as a karate prodigy, but she too is aware of the speed and skill of the man lounging beside her is capable of when he wants to.

“I apologise. I really should not have let it happen again. A year has gone by and yet I remain a failure in this regard.”

“That’s a bit harsh don’t you think?”

“I think sentiment has no place in my training or my life. It won’t improve my training.”

“Heehoo, well I figured you might say that.”

“It’s what I believe.”

Bea remains steadfast as they watch Avery make his way to the shoreline to sulk (or ‘collect his thoughts’ as he would say).

“It’s what your parents believe as well, no? They seem like upstanding people from what I know.”

“They are just as much my teachers as you are.”

“And much of what you know comes from them?”

“That is correct.”

“I wonder how much of your ideas are your own, young Bea, and how much are theirs.”

“What…do you mean by that?”

Mustard shrugs, producing a berry just as the last time they’d spoken properly.

“Like I said, you should go after Avery.”

“Why would I do that?”

The harshness of her tone is not lost on Mustard, watching as Bea turns down the Pecha berry this time. He slips it into her pocket anyway. For someone who strives to be aware of her surroundings, the young girl’s one-track mind of success holds her back significantly in his eyes.

“He could use someone to talk to. I believe you have some things in common.”

“We’re not friends.”

“Ah, now was that code for ‘his weakness is his own problem, and if he can’t solve it on his own, he doesn’t deserve to succeed’?”

“…”

He’s right of course, the window dressing Bea had unknowingly put up did little disguise her feelings to him.

“Don’t forget you’ve had support on your journey. Be like a Lapras.”

“A Lapras?”

“Support him, just for a bit. Think of it as a mission set by me.” Mustard points to where Avery has released his Slowpoke, no doubt intending to train until darkness has fallen. “If you don’t learn anything than I’ll have failed, dealio?”

“You…believe I can learn from him? He prefers psychic types I’m not sure…”

“I don’t mean battling, Bea. It may surprise you there is more to life than fighting and training.”

When Bea next looks around Mustard is gone, leaving her with a weird taste in her mouth.

_What could he mean by that? He didn’t become the champion of Galar by **not** training did he? _

Of course she doesn’t take his words lightly, and they were for her and her alone, not an address to the dojo as a whole. Still, Bea can’t make sense of it but decides that if the Master wants her to talk to Avery, then she was going to talk to Avery.

* * *

Bea is 7 when she learns Avery and she have some things in common. Not that she cares, naturally, but Avery seems to benefit so she calls her lesson from the Master a success. He will have to be pleased with her now.

She wanted a measure of the boy’s strength if anything.

“What do you want?” Avery doesn’t attempt to hide his disdain and doesn’t turn around to greet her. He continues along the shoreline, scooping up handfuls of sand with his powers and tossing them around.

“I want…to…talk.”

“Oh, _you_ want to talk, do you? That’s rich, do enlighten me.”

“Your attitude is your undoing.” Though not sure what to say at first, Avery’s jab gives her an easy opening. “Will you at least give me your attention?”

“Stop pretending that this was your idea, I know what that old man is like. He’s trying to bring me in line,” Avery spits, throwing a stone (with his hand this time) into the ebbing waters. “I have nothing to say to him, to you, to anyone. I must work hard myself if I am to succeed.”

That strikes a chord with the young Bea, who voices her affirmation. In return she receives a quick glance sideways but nothing more.

“We’re not friends, nor would I want us to be. However, I think we have some things in common. It may be to both our benefits should we exchange information.”

Avery stops at last, sitting himself down on the cool sands. Whether he’s actually ready to listen or just tired out from venting is unclear, but the way he hugs his Slowpoke tightly indicates to Bea it’s the former.

_People hug things they care about, from what I know. People and Pokémon alike. Avery does care about his Pokémon._

It does not occur to Bea in the slightest that she has never hugged her parents, nor been hugged in return.

“What could you and I possibly have to talk about, Bea?” His voice is…not defeated exactly, but tired. A tiredness Bea cannot place as he is physically fine. “You and I would both prefer to do things separately. I know that’s the case.”

Bea cannot fault him for that.

“That’s true.” She sits next to him, watching the dancing waters gradually fade from yellow to orange as the sun sets.

“The Master did put you up to this, did he not?”

“He did.”

Avery laughs but it’s dry, forced even.

“Of course. You would never take the initiative. When we’re with the others you’re always off to the side. You don’t join in with the group unless it’s a group exercise.”

“I’m still here aren’t I?”

“Would you have said no to the Master?”

“…”

“I thought not.”

“…”

“…”

“…”

“…Still, I’m…ahem…thankful,” Avery coughs out, looking away. “I appear to have pushed everyone else away.”

“…I wonder if I have done the same?”

“Oh?” He looks back to the cross-legged girl beside him. “Though I suppose I should admire your dedication.”

“…” Not the response Bea was expecting.

“You don’t engage with people because you genuinely believe you can overcome anything on your own. Everyone else is just another opponent.”

“Am I really so easy to read?”

Avery laughs again, genuinely this time.

“If you were trying to hide it you fail in a most spectacular fashion! Something tells me you simply do not care for others, though. I…” He pauses, fixing his glasses again. Bea has learned it to be a nervous habit of his. “I…I am a fraud in the department. Compared to you.”

“So you do care?”

“Not in general,” he corrects. “But yes, what my family think of me is of the utmost importance. It is because of them I’m here.”

“Then the same is true of me.”

“Maybe superficially. Are your parents gym leaders, Bea?”

“No.”

“Has anyone in your family been a gym leader in the past?”

“No.”

“Then why do you want to become one so badly?”

“It is what my parents think best.” Bea answers on reflex, not noticing how Avery cringes internally at her words.

“And why do you think they think that?”

“That doesn’t matter. What they want makes sense. They’re older and wiser than me and know me the best. They’ve put a lot of effort into me being as strong as I am. I won’t let them down.”

“I…see.”

Avery goes on to explain to the young Bea that he comes from a long line of psychics that have held the psychic type gym in Galar for over 80 years now. All of them his ancestors, it has now fallen to him to train to take over the gym one day. However…

“I’m a failure in their eyes,” he finishes lamely, tossing another pebble into the sea. “I can’t teleport objects or read my Pokemon’s thoughts in battle. I recognise the irony in having a Slowpoke as my partner, but I wouldn’t trade them for anything.”

“Slooooow?” The Pokémon perks up at the mention of its name, earning a scratch behind the ears from Avery.

“I can just levitate and control objects.”

“That still requires a lot of skill and power.”

“But not enough.”

“Your parents sound very dedicated, Avery.”

“And yours don’t?”

Again, Bea concedes he isn’t wrong. Still, would her parents really have casted her out and called her a failure if she didn’t perform as well as she did?

Bea feels the heat rush out of her body at the thought and tries to banish it as quick as possible; she fails and Avery notices her change in demeanour.

“Are you alright?”

“I’m…fine.”

“You look far from it.”

“My parents would never…I’ve worked too hard…they wouldn’t…”

“I didn’t say they would.” Avery seems to have picked up on fears.

_Fears._

Bea’s arms seize up.

She cannot be afraid, she won’t _allow_ herself to feel fear. It is the height of weakness to show fear, and especially in the presence of someone else.

Why would she ever be afraid?

“I just…I thought coming here would fix all of my problems.”

Bea snaps back to reality, Avery’s lilting voice making itself known once more.

“You did?”

“I wasn’t strong enough. The family gym was challenged, and I lost. We dropped out of the major league because of me. Now challengers have to fight the water type gym.”

“…”

“I got the idea from a flyer,” Avery continues, squeezing Slowpoke to his chest. “I was desperate, with nowhere else to go. I was effectively homeless when they kicked me out. My family told me to come back when I was worthy of the gym,” he says ruefully. Avery tucks his knees under his chin, sighing.

Bea in turn sighs, dispelling her negativity. Her parents would never have approved.

She relaxes her arms manually, the two deciding to let her short episode go unaddressed. Avery would have been kidding himself if he didn’t think there was something wrong, but what could he do? Bea was as steadfast as a rock.

“It doesn’t sound like you had a choice in your life.”

“………Did you?”

“…”

The two remain in silence for a while longer before Bea departs. Avery warns her against telling anyone else about what they talked about, lest his image be ruined. That was never her aim but Bea agrees all the same.

Bea is 7 when the steadfast rock her life has been built on starts to erode.

Bea is 7 when first experiences genuine panic. In those few moments with Avery (oh so few) her entire castle’s worth of defences and battlements had come crashing down.

Bea knows she cannot afford to think of such things. Keeping her focus in the here and now and ‘not away with the fairies’ as her mother puts it, has always been at the forefront of her teachings.

_There is only one world and it’s this one. The ‘might have beens’ and ‘could be’s’ have no place in my life._

She hates how emotional she had become, only for Avery to diffuse her. She knew it was deliberate on his part; she was no one’s charity and she didn’t accept weakness in herself so why should anyone else?

Resolving to further seal herself off was the only option, but as the young Bea would later find out, life doesn’t always agree with what you think.

* * *

When Bea returns to the Isle of Armor at the age of 10, she has a Pokémon by her side. Her parents have allowed her catch a Tyrogue, insisting it was the better choice than the more common Machop. Her parents always know best and Bea doesn’t question them.

_“Tyrogue has three different evolutions, daughter. Whichever style it evolves into will give us insight into your strengths and weaknesses as a trainer.”_

Now sporting a headband with Scorbunny ears, her lengthening hair will no longer get in the way. It was either that or a haircut, and haircuts take time out of her busy training schedule.

She meets with Avery again, now even taller and just as abrasive to everyone as ever (though she can tell he’s glad to see someone who at least puts up with him).

If anything, he is more interested in her now that she has her own Pokémon to battle him with.

“It’s good to see you again, Avery.”

“It’s always good to see me, Bea!”

Avery deftly twirls a couple of pokéballs above his head with a smirk; Bea can already feel her spirits getting fired up and she has yet to even be formally inducted for this year.

“It seems you’ve improved your power. I hope that means you’ve been training hard so I can beat you.”

“Alas, it will be I who beats you. You seem to prefer the fighting type, don’t you? You lose the type match up.”

“And you just lose.”

Bea hears some call ‘ooh burn!’ from across the room but ignores them. Avery tries to do the same but doesn’t quite succeed, his brow furrowing in annoyance.

“We’ll see about that. After training today seems prudent?”

“No matter what the Master throws at us today, we’ll have our battle.” They shake on it, before settling down to listen to what Mustard has to say (who has strangely materialised once again).

Bea is now fully aware of his skill and respects him a great deal more than when they first met. To appear so suddenly as if from shadow was an art so many sought to master, yet this was no school of ninjas.

Her parents would have sent her to Kanto if they wanted that for her.

“Hey hoo, trainers! Great to see so many new faces this year, and some familiar ones too! Lovely jubbly!”

He catches those he knows with a wink, Bea included. Though her journey to mastery has barely begun she already feels…normal, here.

She just feels slightly more at ease than she does at home, but can’t put her finger on as to why.

 _The fresh sea air is very healthy for me,_ Bea thinks, conveniently forgetting Stow-on-Side is named as such for being next to the Great Straits of Galar.

The training they’re given is relatively straightforward, so naturally Bea is very suspicious. Avery and the other more experienced trainers are as well but try not to let it show. Mustard is likely very aware they’re onto him but there isn’t a whole lot they can do as they set out:

A simple jog there and back to the Towers of Darkness and Waters. Twice. Nothing they couldn’t handle.

For the new students, a chance to see the awe-inspiring might of the towers up close. For those aware of their purpose, a chance to see what could one day be their honours to ascend.

Bea is ahead of the main pack when the running starts, keeping pace with the older teenagers as the rest settle into a steady rhythm. Avery is surprisingly athletic for a psychic, though Bea can see his long legs give him somewhat of a respite.

_At least he didn’t yell out ‘Avery, Teleport!’ this time. Ridiculous._

The first circuit goes well enough but on the way back from the second Bea can tell something is wrong. The students at the back are catching up.

Nothing too out of the ordinary, but the force that’s acting on her body and the pack leaders is anything but.

“What the…what is this?” The defacto leader, a taller girl of 16, looks behind to see Avery and the others gaining.

Bea feels like her arms and legs are slowing. Not so much getting heavier but akin to wading through treacle or mud.

The group pushes forwards anyway, and Bea catches something moving between the trees at the edge of the path. Many things moving.

“Did you see that?” Bea asks, the group barely above walking speed.

“Yeah,” a darker skinned boy answers, grimacing. “Are they Pokémon? What’s going on?”

The effect is gone as quickly as it came over them but they are left in the dust as Avery and the others are already finished. The Master is smiling when they return and the breakaways realise they’ve been had.

“Master,” the tall girl asks (Bea still hasn’t felt the need to learn her name). “What just happened? Was this another trial of yours?”

“Not quite, Esther, not quite. What did you Slowpoke’s at the back think?” He’s addressing the stragglers more than them, but they’re still intrigued. “Not actual Slowpokes, mind you, though that would be fun, wouldn’t it?”

A couple of them hazard an answer, with things ranging from feeling like their bodies were lighter than air, to being pumped full of energy:

He dismisses them all.

“All of you, both those forging ahead and those trying to keep up were too focused on the path ahead. One track minds. You failed to notice what was happening around you.”

Bea knows he’s serious when he’s stopped smiling as much.

“I was like you when I was in my prime, one goal and one goal only.” He stomps his foot and assumes a crouching stance. “To discipline my body and mind! To overcome all obstacles! But where those obstacles come from…” The entire room glows pink for a moment, and he is suddenly behind them. “Matter just as much.”

The class is in disarray, each trying to turn to where Mustard is now standing. He’s slouching by the door, cheeky grin back on his face. At his side are several Galarian Slowbros.

“Trick Room.”

Bea recognises Avery’s gasp of indignation, as does Mustard.

“Well done, Avery! If I was giving points out, you’d get yourself 10!”

Avery mumbles to himself that’s the same as him not getting anything at all, but is ignored.

“Before I sent you out, I lined up these Slowbros I trained for the sole purpose of affecting the path with Trick Room. Had a single one of you noticed them and met their gaze, I instructed them to stop. Instead, they simply stopped when someone made it back here.”

“You must have been very confident none of us would look.”

“Doesn’t that unfairly affect those ahead?”

Mustard nods his head to both of the questions his students have put forward.

“I was super-duper confident. When you’re ahead you’ve got a tendency to get complacent compared with those adjacent. Oh, a rhyme!” Many of the students roll their eyes. Bea just stands, transfixed.

She doesn’t know why, but the feeling that the test was designed for someone like her in mind is too strong to ignore. Designed for some like her…and she failed.

She is angry and she doesn’t know why. Her subconscious is at a loss too.

Even after the rest of the days training she hasn’t got it out of her system, hands clenching and unclenching with the same mild anger. She isn’t in a mood to fight Avery, and even when Tyrogue is able to knock out his Abra she just doesn’t feel content.

Has she ever?

After Avery huffs, walking away and swearing revenge (with using Fake Out apparently being akin to cheating), she makes her way into forest’s edge.

The cool earth and breeze in the dying light is perfect for meditation.

She sits.

Satisfaction for Bea is completing the drills her parents set her. Her reward is more drills. There is never an end. Meditation is her ‘break’ if she would dare to call it that.

“Young Bea, spare an old man a moment?”

Bea doesn’t dare to give up on being startled by the dojo master, but he makes it incredibly tough.

“You have every moment of my time while I’m here, Master. If anything, I’m honoured.”

“I see.” Mustard takes a seat on the earth opposite Bea, startling her further.

_What is he doing placing himself on the same level as me? That isn’t right. Is it?_

“I’ve been having a good old chinwag with the other students about today’s drills. Getting their thoughts on it and whatnot. What do you think?”

“Does it matter what I think? I failed.”

“Now that’s a loaded answer if I’ve ever heard one,” Mustard chortles, leaning back on the dark oak trunk behind.

“…I don’t understand, I apologise.”

“Ah that’s alright. I suppose I got ahead of myself.”

“…” Mustard’s face is unreadable, truly. Bea is careful to avert her eyes to respect his higher station but that just makes telling what he’s thinking even harder.

“Let’s start at the beginning. Always a good place. Did you think todays lesson was helpful?”

“It helped me further my training, as all your lessons do.”

“But what did you think of it?”

“I…applied myself and became stronger.”

“But what specifically? What do _you_ think?”

“Who else would be doing my thinking for me?”

Mustard sighs, taking a bag of dried vegetable snacks out of his pocket; Bea refuses when offered, the Master shrugs and helps himself.

“More broadly then…why do you want to become a gym leader?”

It is no secret many of the students that have come to the dojo want to become gym leaders. Avery and herself are proof of that. Still, the question cuts to the heart of the matter in ways Bea doesn’t know how to express.

“My parents think…” Bea stops, face contorting into a frown. Mustard nods.

“There you are. The reasons _you_ do things, Bea, are the reasons you either succeed or fail your training. That’s the reason you failed the run this morning. Although not alone in this, I saw you took it the hardest.”

“I was too focused on the end goal, as you said.”

“Is the goal yours?”

“I…” Again she trails off. The question was open ended, and deliberately so. “The goal of getting back to the dojo first, or becoming a gym leader?”

“Very good. Are you sure you don’t want a veggie treat?” He waves the bag.

“If it is what you wish for me.”

“Nah-ah, what do _you_ want?”

“…” Bea is heavily contemplating telling the Master of her love of the sweeter things in life.

_He probably already knows, doesn’t he? All those berries he finds ways to give me. That can’t be a coincidence, can it?_

Deciding the truth is the best course of action with him, Bea confesses her secret and is in turn rewarded with a Mago berry.

“You haven’t told your parents that you like sweets, have you?”

“…” Bea wants to pretend her mouth is still full but he wouldn’t believe her either way. “What does it matter?”

“Everything you do, whether here on the island or otherwise, seems to be for them. Why not be open?”

“It isn’t a secret if that’s what you mean.”

“Isn’t it?”

“It’s irrelevant to my training. My parents see no reason to discuss much else with me. It’s not a secret, there just isn’t any reason it would come up in conversation.”

“Alrighty, so back to my original question then.”

Bea is having a hard time following along with what the Master is doing but any wisdom is good wisdom. She listens as eagerly as she is able.

“Do you think that your opinion doesn’t matter, or in failing have you lost your right to one?”

“The second,” Bea replies a little too quickly to be believable.

“I don’t think you believe that.”

Bea averts her gaze further into the twilight forest.

“If I have any objections with what my parents say, I’m welcome to voice them.”

“Do they listen?”

“They are…”

“Do _you_ think they listen to you, Bea?”

“No. My opinions have little value.” Her hands are clenching again but she barely feels it. The night air is dulling her, the entire reason she came out in the first place. “Rightly so. They’re more experienced than me.”

“Well, shouldn’t my opinions have more value than theirs then?”

“They…know me better than you. That gives them priority.” The excuse sounds far more formulated in the confines of her own mind. Aloud it sounds almost lame. Weak even.

“Well I don’t claim to know you very well at all, Bea, not very well at all,” Mustard ventures. “But from what I can see, your parents don’t seem to know you very well either.”

Now _that_ sends a jolt through her body. Her face darkens in response.

“How can you say that? My parents have given everything to me. They’ve made me as strong as they could so I can become a gym leader in Galar!”

“They clearly have.” For praise, the Master’s tone is very neutral. “Physically you’re exceptional, and a versed student in Galarian Karate. You’re near the top of my classes in that regard.”

 _And in other regards?_ Bea doesn’t need to voice the question. It’s obvious from the way she’s leaned herself in.

“Even your mental fortitude is commendable. You do give a lot of other students here some trouble.”

“But…?” Bea cannot resist now.

“But you’ll _never_ be the gym leader you could be with your current mindset.”

“My…mindset?”

“You don’t stop and take time to think before you act.”

“I meditate as often as I can. Upon every defeat too.” Bea gestures to the trees around them. “I came out here to do that.”

“Meditation is a pathway to emptying your mind. To achieve a clear and balanced state, agree?”

“I agree.”

“What your balanced state of mind is, has nothing to do with meditation.”

“…Forgive me, Master. Can you explain that for me?”

“Gladly!”

Mustard is the one perking up now, seeing that he’s starting to get through to his most steadfast of students.

“What I mean, young Bea, is the answers are here in the real world. You can look inwards with your mindfulness, but the constructs you’ve set will make it very difficult. Or constructs that have been set for you,” he adds.

“Constructs…set for me.”

“Your desire to become a gym leader is a construct of your parents. Your desire to please them is its function.”

“Then…………what should I do? I don’t know…I can’t…what I…” Bea trails off once more. As unbelievable as it would sound to an outsider, the young Bea has never really had to think for herself before.

Mustard leaves shortly after, allowing her to come to her own conclusions, but not before telling her the new headband suits her. He makes a joke about ‘giving her an earful’ if he changes his mind later, to which Bea purses her lips. Her mind is elsewhere, something her parents would certainly disapprove of.

Her parents. To say they were influential in her life was an understatement. In some ways she was their extension.

Her plans were all laid out from birth, or shortly after. The path the plans were laid on is brightly lit with many signs along the way to guide her. Stepping off, even for a moment, hadn’t crossed her mind.

It wasn’t that she didn’t want to be a gym leader. With all her heart she did. Why did it matter if it wasn’t her idea? Why did it bother her so much?

Bea is 10 when the notion that powering through your problems aren’t the same as dealing with them.

However, in all their wisdom, Bea’s parents had made a single oversight:

Though they may have shaped and moulded their daughter’s mind into the shape they thought best, they would never _know_ their daughter’s mind inside and out. At the end of the day she was her own person…and own people tend to make their own decisions, however small.

Sometimes a small decision could lead to big changes.

Bea is 10 when she decides to ask her parents why they want her to become a gym leader.

* * *

Bea is 11 when she gets her answer.

Both her and her Tyrogue get stressed when they don’t train enough, but one more a quirk of biology than external conditioning. Together they have pushed past their limits to greater heights.

Tyrogue is now Hitmontop, a fact Bea’s parents make no mistake in voicing their positivity of.

“The perfect balance of offense and defence, as it should be.”

“You’ve clearly taken your training seriously, daughter.”

Bea’s mother and father aren’t the smiling type (and neither is she, now that she thinks about it) but their praise means a lot to her.

For her birthday, she is granted the rare honour of being allowed inside their shared office. It is unassuming as offices go, aside from a few trophies and framed awards to adorn the walls. Bea has a few of her own by now, though there is no need to display them.

“I think it’s time your team expands. Take this,” Bea’s father states, his hand outstretched holding an ultra ball.

“Thank you, father.” Bea bows before accepting the gift.

She is informed of what she suspects; a Machop of her own is inside the ball. Though not capable of gigantamaxing, she is informed that if she trains hard enough on the Isle of Armor that the secret will be revealed to them both.

“The secret of bestowing gigantamax to a Pokémon not innately born with it is known to a select few. Master Mustard is one such person. If you impress him to a high enough degree, he may share that secret with you. But only if you push yourself even further beyond.”

What Bea’s mother has said leaves little room for interpretation. Her task is clear; gain the Master’s favour and earn herself the right to the true power her Machop is capable of. When it has evolved, at least.

“I’m ready, mother and father. Whatever training it is you desire…I will carry out and surpass.”

“That’s my daughter.”

Though they’d started perhaps earlier than most other parents would consider ‘appropriate’, Bea’s parents wouldn’t have traded it for anything. Seeing their daughter grow into the upstanding young girl she was now was what they thought best.

The ‘tender young age of three’ was by no means tender at all in their books.

It was the prime age to start ones’ training if one wanted to be a truly exceptional trainer. She’d be the steadfast gym leader she was always meant to be.

That thought specifically had been on their daughter’s mind ever since her conversation in the forest. She hadn’t found the opportunity to bring it up before now.

“My parents, I have a question for you.”

Emotion of no kind ran through their family but it could still surface under the right conditions; Bea’s mother and father exchange an intrigued glance before nodding.

“You’re free to speak, my daughter.”

“Why exactly do you want me to become a gym leader? There are many paths to power in this world, yet before I was old enough to walk I was being trained for it.”

“Do you not want to become a gym leader?”

“No, I still do, more than anything.”

“Then that is all that matters.”

“…”

Bea’s mother observes her daughter, noting her gaze locked directly ahead.

“…Have you more to say, daughter?”

“I believe that I would perform even better in my training if I were to know more.”

Bea’s family, for all their talk of meeting your opponent head on and shunning subterfuge, are _remarkably_ poor communicators. The subtext is clear, however.

_What aren’t you telling me?_

“I see. Very well, consider this a birthday gift from us then. Any other day and the lack of restraint would incur a penalty.

“I will still train extra hard today, mother.”

“That’s what I like to hear.”

“You’ve shown critical thinking skills,” her father continues from where he’s decided to sit. “Though you’re no academic it is still an important skill in battle.”

“Thank you, father. That’s kind of you to say.”

“Ah, here we are.” Bea’s mother has retrieved a box from the top of one of the study shelves. Inside are various newspaper clippings and articles from years gone by.

_These are…old._

“What do you know of Stow-on-Side’s gym, daughter?”

“They’re ranked second from the bottom in the Major League. Though they’ve been ranked top of the Minor League many times in the past as well. One of the more changeable gyms from what I gather.”

“Good, and what type specialist holds the position of leader?”

“Ground.”

“Very good. Here.”

Bea reads what she has been given.

 _A cover of ‘Evenings in Wyndon’, I don’t think these are in print anymore._ Bea peers closer, seeing all the different badges of the League lined up for convenience.

“Stow-on-Side…had a fighting type gym? I was unaware of that.”

“Since records began. It is only in recent history that this changed.”

“What happened?” Her father wordlessly hands her another cover. It’s in worse condition, sun faded in places but still legible.

_There’s a picture of a shirtless man in a cape on the front. Was this…?”_

_“_ Was this the last fighting type gym leader? Before it was lost?”

“Yes and no.”

“For shame, daughter,” her mother chides. “Look again.”

It becomes clear after a more detailed look. The stance, the eyebrows, the serious expression now seldom seen. They all remind her of…

“Master Mustard was the gym leader here?”

“Gym leader Mustard as he was then known,” her father corrects, taking the magazine covers back. “He challenged the champion cup and won.”

Bea catches a glimpse of his opponent before the items are shelved once more. A stern looking young woman with curling blue hair and an umbrella.

_She seems familiar._

“Once he was no longer the gym leader, there was a power vacuum. None of the gym trainers in Stow-on-Side were strong enough to keep hold of the gym for more than a few months.”

“After that, it is obvious.”

“They were knocked out of town by a ground specialist.”

Bea is 11 when she first learns of her parent’s true motivations. Bea is 11 when she learns of the deception. Her training was never just _because_. It was never on a whim or as the purest path to power. It was for a purpose.

“You want me to win back Stow-on-Side,” she concludes. “You want me to turn our town’s gym back into a fighting gym.”

“Yes daughter.”

There is no further explanation given, and Bea leaves the study with several more things on her mind that she doesn’t dare raise with them.

Now that she knows Mustard was the former fighting type gym leader, a lot more makes sense to her. As does training under him.

_What better way to prepare me to take over the gym than to train under the former leader of it? It isn’t just that he’s the best. It’s specifically tailored to me._

Bea wonders just how far in advance her parent’s preparations for her were made. Likely before she was born now that she knows what she does.

Her parents were always fighting type specialists themselves, feeling very strongly about the purity of them when compared with the other types. Ghost in particular never sat right with them.

_Of course they’d feel strongly about a gym of their type being lost. They probably have even more respect for Master Mustard than I do._

Bea concludes, somewhat slowly as she tidies her room, that (in her parent’s eyes at least) regaining the gym is the honourable thing to do. In a way Bea would be regaining Master Mustard’s lost honour as well, regardless of whether he played a part in the gym’s downfall or not.

She doesn’t know why she’s surprised. Her parents have always done everything for a reason.

It’s not that they lied, because they haven’t. It’s just they didn’t think it necessary to mention to her the enormous burden they’ve saddled her with.

_Was it kinder…when I didn’t know?_

Now that she’s aware of what’s at stake if she doesn’t succeed…Bea doesn’t know how to feel.

She already knows families have kicked their children out for failing. Avery is living proof. Although he puts on a good show (and dresses the part), she can see his act is forced. His past weighs on him heavily, as does the burden of success.

Was that what she was destined for?

“There’s no such things as destiny,” Bea murmurs, opening her window with a little more force than was needed. “I make my own fate.”

Even that is a lie. Her fate is putty in her parent’s hands and she’s never had a choice in the matter.

Bea is but 11 when she begins to understand the situation she’s in. The mantle of a title she didn’t know the history behind has reared its head for her to see.

The funny thing about fate is always the difference between those who believe they know it and those who don’t. Both still end up being surprised for different reasons.

How a person adapts to a change tells you far more about them than the planning beforehand.

Bea is 11 when the strands of fate first lose their grip on her.

* * *

Bea is 12 when her she first meets someone she genuinely dislikes. Though having prided herself on a detachment from the world around her, recently she’s been feeling tethered down. The weight of her task cannot be forgotten, and she has no one to talk to about it.

Bea is 12 when she wonders when she started wanting someone to talk to. Independence and her were always the best of friends. Inseparable.

Now the urge to talk is starting to bleed through the fault lines to colour her features.

She wouldn’t dream of saddling Avery with yet more burdens, and they’re really more of the ‘friendly rival’ order than real friends. Bea consoles herself with the knowledge she doesn’t know what real friends are supposed to be.

Bea sighs, straightening her back flush against the rocky wall of Courageous Cavern. The shallow pool opposite her offers a mirror to her features, if she ever decides being melodramatic is an option.

Today’s training is freeform. The surroundings of the cavern are oppressive, yet tranquil; perfect for meditation.

_‘Whatever it is you students think best, eh? Go wild!’_

Bea suspects Mustard didn’t actually want anyone to go wild, but he has none-the-less allowed two of the more experienced trainers to dynamax in the dojo’s courtyard.

Her idea of wild is meditating in an area with Pokémon known for their hostility. Her ears are hyper focused for the sounds of any Druddigon or Krookodile in range, but she’s fine. The ability to partition her mind to listen while meditating is a mark of pride for her.

Yet Bea feels no pride for her lack of friends.

At school she has a great deal of respect from her peers and is on good terms with many, but they don’t _know_ her. It’s not like she knows them either.

More and more has she been letting her parents ‘mission’ get to her. It can easily be days between having a conversation at home, so here on the Isle or Armor is her only outlet. Even then, the Master is the only one she would dare talk to about it.

“Yooohooo! Anyone in here?!”

_And especially not her._

Bea grimaces, the tone of the voice slowly approaching her position is one of the less tolerable ones. As voices go.

Bea is 12 when she first meets Klara. She’d been on guard the moment the girl had introduced herself, not believing for a moment that her prissiness was anything more than an act. An over the top, flamboyant act at that.

Though she knows her own prejudices were to blame, the idea of the ‘pretty pink princess’ just didn’t do it for her. One thing she was unequivocally fine with her parents instilling within her.

“Oh, well look at that! Someone’s all alone in here! Shouldn’t surprise me, but that’s life!”

A _nd of course, she finds me immediately. How does she do that?_

“Hello, Klara. I see you’re training hard as usual.”

“Oh don’t be like that, Jellybea! I’m working suuuper hard right now, you just can’t see because you haven’t opened your eyes!”

Bea is very much tempted to not open her eyes just to spite her, but knows she won’t get any peace if she doesn’t; she opens her eyes a crack, seeing Klara lazing around with her phone as per usual.

“Was that so hard?”

“Moderately.” Bea doesn’t know how exactly Klara is able to annoy her to the magnitude she does, but she does and it’s _annoying_. Her face remains impassive to save her dignity; Bea knows if she gives an inch, Klara will take a mile.

“Sheesh, tough crowd, Jellybea.” Klara is more focused on trying to find an ‘aesethic photo’ for her social media than anything, and Bea wonders how she hasn’t been blindsided by Tauros yet. “I only popped by to say hi! I don’t make the effort with everyone, you know. You should be honoured and stuff.”

“Then I’m sorry for disappointing you.” Bea is in no way sorry, but she knows Klara is aware of that. Still, it doesn’t stop the pink haired girl from pestering her.

“Don’t be like that! After all, that’s what friends are for.”

For all her talk of wanting someone to talk to, Klara is decidedly not high up on Bea’s list. Far from it, the instance that the two are friends serves only to push her further away.

A part of Bea knows Klara is genuinely trying, and wants to be her friend for real. It’s unfortunately significantly overshadowed by the more…questionable…parts of Klara’s personality. The scheming parts. The parts that compel her to take any advantage no matter how dirty.

Bea recognises that her urge to win no matter what seems to align with that, but her subconscious twists it into something honourable for her to stomach.

_At least I don’t try and poison my opponents Pokémon before the match. Klara was lucky that Honey only gave her a slap on the wrist._

Trying to slip something into to another trainer’s bowl to give them diarrhoea before a match was also, understandably, frowned on. Bea can’t understand why Mustard and Honey are so lenient with her.

_Do they hope that with kindness Klara will get better? It’s a long way to go then. Right now she’s just taking advantage of it…_

_“_ Hey don’t ignore me!”

When Bea opens her eyes again Klara is waving her arms around from the other side of the pool.

“I’m not ignoring you.”

“So are! Your eyes are shut again!”

“I’m trying to meditate, Klara. It’d do you good to do so as well. Mindfulness is an…”

“Yeah sounds great,” Klara intones, looking over her shoulder. “You’re such a big help, Jellybea! I’m gonna join you riiiight now.”

“No, and please stop calling me that.”

Klara has already splashed noisily across the pool, sending any Tentacool to the depths in a panic at the sudden noise. She looks over her shoulder again, and Bea wonders if Klara is hiding from something.

Klara might be down and dirty personality wise, but outwardly she’s drawn to perfection; getting her clothes wet is unheard of.

“Here we go, just the two of us then.”

Klara has plonked herself down far closer than Bea would have liked, spraying her area with water in the process.

 _I preferred it when it was just the one of us. It wasn’t an invitation._ Bea doesn’t bother to voice her grievance. Klara seems to have selective hearing syndrome when it comes to certain things. Like being told no.

“Are you actually going to meditate? Or just annoy me?”

“Sure I am!” To her credit Klara does close her eyes…and start humming.

Bea knows the tune by now, one of Klara’s own. The rumour was that Klara was a child pop star, propelled by her parents to a life of stardom. Or it would have been had her albums sold more than seven copies in the first week.

With their masterplan to worm their way to the top in shambles, Klara’s parents had let their daughter do whatever she wanted since then. No guidance, no rules, no drive.

It had led her here, deciding to become a poison type gym leader due to the lack of competition.

“An easy way out,” Bea mutters, but Klara still perks up.

“Say something, Jellybea?”

“No, Klara, just…thinking.”

“What’cha thinking about?”

In truth Bea wasn’t sure. Klara had only come because Mustard had seemed like a pushover and the training seemed easy. Bea had fallen into that trap as well, though for different reasons. The more she thinks about it, the more…

“I suppose we do have some things in common.”

Klara’s eyes are positively starry, at a guess. Bea hasn’t bothered to check, but the bouncing of the girl’s leg next to her is enough of a giveaway.

“Bea! That might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever said!”

“That’s high praise?” Apparently high enough praise for her to not call her by the ridiculous nickname she’d been given.

_Of all the people to find out I like sweets. Honestly._

“Well from you, yeah. You’ve always been so short with me, y’know?”

“That’s just how I talk.”

It’s not entirely true, and Klara knows that.

“Even so, I always feel like I’ve been putting in all the work into this relationship! Anyone would think you didn’t like me…”

Bea knows it’s an act, and tries not to fall for it. Klara is _so_ convincing but she has to stay strong. Playing the game her way was the only way she ever going to win; she has, for now.

Klara’s face is scrunched up, bemused.

“Gee, not even a whimper, huh?” The use of Klara’s normal voice makes Bea unreasonably uncomfortable. Devoid of its usual sugar-coated sweetness, it’s positively strange hearing her speak. “You’re good, I’ll give you that.”

“You make it too easy. Now please be quiet or leave.”

Bea knows Klara will just follow her if she goes or she’d have just left immediately. Even if she’s a far better runner, the difference isn’t as large as she’d like for a clean getaway.

_Even Avery’s more athletic. I don’t think Klara’s exercised a day in her life. Maybe I could outrun her…_

_“_ Aww, but we were just getting to know each other! This is, like, the longest we’ve ever spoken, Jellybea.”

“All you want to talk about is gossip about music and boys.”

Having to share the girl’s dormitory with Klara was another checkmark against her, though thankfully it was more spread among her peers than the norm.

_I don’t want to listen to your pop music on repeat and I don’t want to talk about crushes or have my fingernails painted. What works for you doesn’t work for me._

_“_ Ahhh.” Klara nods sagely. Bea knows it’s another trap but it’s open ended enough for her to bite.

“What?”

“You can like girls, no biggie. I’ve got to have everyone like me if I wanna hit the big time. I don’t judge.”

“That’s not what I meant. I just don’t like people like that.”

“Have you ever tried liking someone?”

“Have you ever tried putting in effort?”

For once Klara doesn’t brush off her remark, staring into the now settled waters.

“Stardom doesn’t come easy. My parents told me I was destined for the top.” Her voice is small, but angry. “Now I’m here in this dumb cave on an island in the middle of nowhere!”

“…My parents want me to do stuff too. That’s what I meant when I said we had something in common.”

“Oh yeah…you don’t seem happy about it.” Klara tosses a rock carelessly into the depths. “Oh don’t get me wrong, I’ll do anything to succeed. Anything. But you…I dunno. You put on a show like I do, but your heart isn’t in it, Jellybea.”

“What do you mean?” Bea has given up trying to meditate.

“I don’t let what my parents wanted for me get to me. You seem all hung up on it,” Klara explains. “I couldn’t be as uptight as you if I tried, but I think you’re soft underneath.”

“I’m not soft.”

“You totally are.”

Bea leans away before Klara can boop her nose, hearing the rocks shifting; she returns back to her sitting spot in a huff.

“You drop your act around me, Klara. Why me specifically? Why not anyone else?”

“You’ve got a mask too, I’m just more honest. I feel like we’re kindred spirits, right? I’m right aren’t I?”

“…”

Bea is in no way soft, and certainly not anyone’s kindred spirit. She doesn’t allow those emotions to bother her and yet…

Given the chance, she knows Klara would crush her opponent without a shred of mercy. There was once a time when Bea knows that she would have done the same. Now she isn’t so sure.

Sure she’s still striving to be strong, but overwhelming force is seeming less and less appealing to her. The more she trains with her Hitmontop and Machop, the stronger they’ve become. That much is obvious, but she feels them growing closer in spirit too.

More and more does Bea find that being moved by her battles isn’t the worst feeling.

That in growing closer to her Pokémon, and not just seeing them as tools, does their strength truly increase. Not even just treating it as a mutually beneficially partnership as her parents do with their Pokémon.

Genuine pride when they win together, and intense motivation when they lose. A few years ago Bea would never have imagined these were her thoughts.

They were no one’s but hers.

Does she have any right to judge the girl next to her? They’re both to be pretending to be things they’re not. Both set goals by their parents. Only Klara has embraced hers despite an initial failure. Bea wants to succeed too, but it bothers her more by the day that her life has never truly been lived.

“You put on this fake persona but you’re an Arbok waiting to strike. It’s uncomfortable.”

“What can I say? Whatever gets me popular. Besides-” Klara says as she leans over “–it’s not like you ever talk to anyone else. My secret is safe with you.”

That’s true enough. The Master and Honey are already aware of Klara’s true personality, the one without its candied exterior. The only person she’d consider telling is Avery but she knows he isn’t liable to care.

Bea knows it’s just Klara’s way of toying with her. To watch her go off and prance around, sucking up to every trainer left, right, and centre, while secretly planning their downfall. Probing for weakness in plain sight.

Knowing she’ll never tell anyone about her true self. The one who’d stab someone in the back without hesitation.

_‘Keep any friends close, and enemies closer.’_

Bea has done the unthinkable and disregarded her father’s advice, and she has Klara to thank for that. Being any closer to the girl beside her than she already is, is excruciating.

_So why did you open up to her then? Even just a little. I guess I’m just that starved of social discourse. You know that’ll come back to bite you. She uses any and all information she learns to get what she wants from people._

_Maybe I just have nothing to offer her?_

Klara attempts to glean more information from her but Bea is done humouring her for today. It surprises her Klara elects to stay by her side. Quite by coincidence it is also Klara’s turn for floor washing duty that day, but Bea doesn’t learn of this until supper time.

She’s missed the Master sweep on by to the spot and watch them ‘meditating’ together. Of course, it makes sense this was whom Klara was looking out for earlier.

Whether she was just using her to get out of chores or genuinely wanted her company doesn’t matter to Bea. She suspects it’s a bit of both. She’s never taken any of Klara’s sass, and Klara (the real Klara) does genuinely like that in her own strange way.

Maybe she needs a social outlet, just as Bea does? Someone to know the real her when the act becomes too tiring to keep up. Klara says they’re the same, but Bea’s pride keeps pushing that thought to the back of her head.

Bea still thinks she doesn’t want to be her friend. Turning your back to an Arbok is likely to end badly, even for a moment.

Bea is 12 when she gets the sense she isn’t so different to the people around her. That despite her parent’s best efforts, she walks upon the mortal soil.

That strange people like the Master, Avery, and Klara can all influence her view of the world. Her untouchable cloud in the sky is closer to the earth than the sky.

Shameful in their eyes, but Bea is 12 when she cements in her mind that her parents don’t need to know everything about her.

Knowing a self-proclaimed ‘rebel’ like the real Klara has told her, has incited some somewhat rebellious behaviour in their perfect daughter. Bea is thankful Klara has taught her that much, at least.

Bea is 12 when she starts to think she has a better grip on her destiny than ever before.

* * *

Bea is 13 when her life changes forever. The direction life had taken her is no longer the well-lit walkway with signs to guide. Instead darkened and in shambles, her vision clouding as she falls to the ground.

“That’s the third time today, though I suspect my recent improvements have little to do with that.” Bea waves Avery’s rare display of concern away.

“Again.”

“Bea, I don’t think…”

“So don’t. Again.”

Avery says nothing, but agrees to time her once again. The Master has them holding the Plank with a weight of their choosing on their back, with a partner to time. Normally Bea would have blown Avery out of the water.

Today was not normal. Normal hadn’t been on the menu for months. Not since the night no one could have predicted.

Bea collapses, losing focus and cursing mildly. She’s been doing that more often now. Once finding it the height of rudeness, swearing is an unexpected outlet Bea didn’t know she needed.

_What the hell were my parents thinking?_

Bea is snapped out of her cyclical debate by the psychic trainer opposite.

“I know you’re not alright, Bea. It’s been days and days since the summer began and you’re…you’re not yourself.” Avery looks both ways, making sure no one is in earshot before lowering his voice. “I shouldn’t be able to beat you so readily. What’s going on?”

His usual indignation isn’t present, so Bea knows he genuinely wants to help. He wasn’t even fazed that Tyrogue had evolved before Slowpoke, telling her ‘they’ll evolve in their own time’.

Her instinct is to lie anyway.

“I’m…fine.” Bea rolls over onto her front, the training rock she’s picked up thudding onto the dirt.

“We both know that isn’t true.”

“…We do.”

“So are you going to talk to me? Unless you have someone else in mind.”

“No…I mean…I don’t know, Avery.”

“I’m sure Klara will listen. That girl seems to like you.”

“Trust me I know. Not a good idea.”

Avery shrugs.

“Maybe not.” He eyes where Klara is half-heartedly paying attention to her partner’s time, checking her phone on the fly; she shoots him a wink, to which he brushes off.

It doesn’t take someone with his superior intellect to see how two faced she can be. Why she goes after Bea is beyond him, but it’s beside the point for now.

“A lot happened before I came here this year,” Bea asserts. She continues to lie on the floor, defeated for now.

“Home?”

“Yeah. I know you can relate.”

“All too well,” Avery says, sighing as he begins to clean his glasses. “Then if you won’t tell me at least talk with the Master. I don’t get any satisfaction beating you if you’re not at your best.”

“Tch, I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

Avery may have opened up to her on one occasion but that doesn’t mean she’s ready to share. Even under duress Bea is still a guarded person. That’s what she likes to think anyway.

After helping her up, the two make their way to dojo interior. Bea has yet to talk to Mustard properly this time but she can tell he’s noticed the change.

Her reaction times are slower, he strikes are imprecise (wild even) and her drive is down the drain: she’s a mess.

A shadow of the trainer she could be.

She walks to the Master’s side after the conclusion of her less than perfect day; he understands. Dismissing the class, she’s taken outside and he leads her to the path winding down to the shore.

“I have no excuses, Master. My performance since I returned has been nothing short of shameful.”

“Ehehe, ever the diligent student I see, Bea. Always focused on her lofty goals of conquest.”

“…”

“Normally that’s where you’d give me a big old talking to about purpose and training. You’ve changed, or rather something’s gone and changed for you, no?”

“I couldn’t have said it better,” Bea mutters, watching the dojo fade into the background as the sea continues to swallow her view.

“So talk then. You know you’re free to talk to me, not as Master and student, but as people one to one here.”

“I…know.”

“You’re still hesitant even after the many years you’ve been coming here. I wonder…”

Mustard leads his Charge to a cave cut into the rock of the cove’s face, more than safely away from what gossiping ears may have liked to intrude upon.

“What is this place?”

“One of my favourite meditation spots. The sound of the ocean without the wind to mar it is most relaxing.”

Bea takes a long look at the Master, for once acting his own age. He _looks_ his own age for once too, sombre as he takes a seat on the sandy floor.

“It is hard to break a habit,” Bea says, taking in the spacious surroundings as she sits. Thankfully there aren’t any Slowpoke for them to disturb.

“Your parents often tell you you’re free to talk, don’t they?”

“They do.”

“How sly. May I speak freely, Bea?”

Bea is taken aback by such a question.

“O-of course, Master! Anything you have to say is great. Your guidance…is…good…” Bea trails off, the energy draining once more.

“First, here.” Mustard digs into his coat to produce a packet of bonbons. He tosses them onto the ground between them. “I can see you’re stressed. Something nice should help calm you.”

Bea’s hand reaches out, then stops.

“Won’t that just give me more energy to burn? Stress me further?”

“Admitting you’re stressed is the first step, well done!”

“…Thanks.”

“But no, they won’t.” Mustard snags a few for himself before Bea takes the baggy. “The whole ‘sugar turns you hyper’ rigmarole was proven wrong back in my day! Still, hard to get public perception to swing, eh?”

“My parents believe it.”

“Then clearly your parents don’t always know what’s best.”

“…”

“I think your parents have conditioned you into not asking questions. I can see it when you talk to me and the others in the dojo.”

It’s a blunt statement, but Bea is finding the truth of it harder and harder to ignore as the years continue to go by.

“I just…prefer my own company.”

“You also told me your parents don’t value your input. Without a reason to say anything, you don’t. Now with such a change in your life your whole system’s been shocked. You’ve been keeping whatever’s bothering you inside for months, haven’t you?”

“School is…not…the place.”

“You don’t talk to your teachers about this?”

Bea shakes her head.

“Talking to them means they’d call my parents.”

“Their duty of care, yes. It makes sense.” Mustard has finished the bonbons he’s taken and Bea wordlessly hands the bag back. It is noticeably lighter, which is progress enough. “I may be a teacher but not one in the traditional sense. If you wish to clear your mind you should have things out in the open. They’ll seem less strange, promise!”

“I’m a sister,” Bea blurts out, no longer able to contain herself. “My parents took in some kid!”

“…Alright, that’s strange I’ll give you that. Not what I was expecting.”

“Tell me about it! I…I…what?!” Bea thumps a fist on the ground. Her directionless frustration is clear to see to the Master, who in truth wasn’t prepared for something so leftfield.

He’d had his suspicions of Bea’s parents ever since Honey had shown him her check-in form. Stow-on-Side was where his fighting type gym was once located, and her hometown.

Coincidence, maybe? Bea’s family weren’t the only people who lived there.

That was until he’d spoken to the young girl for himself and seen what her parents had moulded her into. It wasn’t unheard of to be trained from a very young age in a finer art or discipline. Many of the world’s best chess or shogi grandmasters were the same.

However, that coupled with her specific insistence on becoming a gym leader _and_ her chosen type specialty was too much to ignore.

What Mustard had just learned didn’t fit with what he knew. Clearly Bea thought the same.

“They took in a child in need? How nice of them.” The words are empty, for neither of them believe her parents would do something simply for being objectively ‘good’.

“He just appeared! On the doorstep! Asleep!”

“People rarely just appear, Bea. How old, may I ask?”

“4, at a guess.” Bea sighs, long and deep. It does nothing to dispel her mounting rage. Still, better out than in; she rubs at her nose severely. “Master, you’re right. People don’t just _appear._ This kid just…did.”

“Did you see them appear?”

“No but…agh…it’s hard to explain!”

“I have time. Just breathe for me, Bea. The sea air will do you good.” Mustard demonstrates by sucking in as much of the salty goodness as his lungs will allow, before releasing it.

“I…” Bea does so, her desire to listen to the one person who’s listening to her winning over her desire to run and train.

“Better?”

“Slightly, thank you, Master.”

“Think nothing of it, but continue as you were.”

“Right.” Bea breathes again, longer this time. “My hearing is very good, Master. Trained like every part of me.”

“It would explain your ability to eavesdrop.”

Bea searches his face for accusation but finds none, just a humorous smile; she’s reminded of the first time she speaks to the Master properly. When she was 6.

_It seems like a lifetime ago. How did this happen to me?_

“I would’ve heard someone come to the door. He was on the doorstep, asleep.”

“How…peculiar.”

“Did he walk up to our door and just drop? Did someone place him there? There should have been some noise! People make noise when they walk! Why didn’t I hear anything?! How did he get there?! Why our house?!”

“Breathe, Bea.”

Bea doesn’t realise at what point her voice started to raise, but quickly constrains herself. She’s here to talk, not to appear on a Galarian daytime soap opera.

“Why didn’t you ask him? I assume you tried?”

“My parents did,” Bea explains, nodding. “They couldn’t even wake him for hours. It’s like his body had shut down or something.”

“But I’m assuming he woke up at some point?”

“The kid couldn’t remember anything except for his own name, and the only things he had were his clothes and a mask. He cries and get shifty if anyone tries to touch it or removes it. That’s…that’s weird right? I’m not going crazy?”

Mustard’s heart goes out to the girl, so desperately looking for validation. She certainly wasn’t finding it at home. That much had always been obvious, but now more than ever.

“That’s out of the ordinary, I’ll give you that. I haven’t heard a tale as fantastical as that in all my years, and I’m old!”

The corner of Bea’s lips turn upwards, just for a moment. People are seldom funny with her.

“The authorities weren’t any help either,” Bea laments. She hurls a fistful of sand against the rocky walls for good measure; the lack of a heavy impact does nothing but frustrate her further.

“How so? Your parents called them, right? I’d be very worried if they didn’t.”

“They did,” Bea confirms. “But there isn’t anything record of him! No hospital records in Stow-on-Side or anywhere in the Wyndon Family Database.” She lays backward on the soft sand, turning her head up towards the ceiling. “My parents thought it was just some kid who’d gotten separated or lost from his family. Maybe got tired and fell asleep on our mat?”

“…And?”

“He doesn’t exist. It’s like he just…appeared.”

“People don’t _appear,_ Bea.”

“You think I don’t know that?” She snaps, immediately regretting it. “I’m…sorry. I didn’t mean to.”

“I understand. This is certainly a most puzzling situation.”

Mustard was often one to understate the severity of a situation, having learned a long time ago that being serious for the majority of one’s life was no way too live. This was an exception.

“I presume the authorities offered to take him in then?”

“…”

“But from what you say…” Mustard concludes heavily. “…your parents offered to keep him in their care instead.”

“But why.” Bea doesn’t raise her voice this time. She doesn’t even pose it as a question. Just a formless statement that’s driven her mad over the past months. “They had the opportunity. This isn’t anything to do with them. He’s not their responsibility, or their child.”

“Did they adopt him? Officially?”

“Officially, no. Officially he’s a ward of the state. They’re just interim guardians for now.”

“Are they planning on?”

“I wish I knew.”

The water droplets on the ceiling remind Bea of the stars somehow. Peaceful.

“Then why didn’t they put him in foster care? Forgive me for speaking out of turn but…” Mustard pauses but the girl on the floor doesn’t object. “…your parents don’t seem best qualified for a task like this.”

“My guess is they want to train him. Like they did with me.”

It’s so obvious when she really thinks about it, until she _really_ thinks about it. It has occurred to her before she understands very little about how her parents think. Many times as the years have worn on. This was the tipping point; she truly has no idea who they are as people.

Aside from the fact she’s their daughter and their love of training and discipline, she draws a blank.

“Do they think they failed with me?” Bea says suddenly. “Are they trying again with him? I thought I was performing as they wanted.”

Despite her mounting doubts about her path in life, Bea has always been careful to the point of absurdity to not let it show. Her parents are better than Houndours when it comes to sensing weakness in her.

Building only the tallest of walls could keep her feelings from leaking out. Maybe she hadn’t been as careful as she believed?

Her parent’s goal for their entire lives was to train her to be Stow-on-Side’s gym leader. Now they were suddenly focused on something completely separate. Were they just that confident in her abilities to self-teach?

_My parents trust me as much as I trust Klara, and that’s saying something._

“Would it bother you if it was true?”

“……Yes.”

“Good, it should, if it was true. I don’t think that’s what your parents are doing.”

“Then what _are_ they doing? It’s been months and I can’t process it. You’re right, Master, they’re not exactly caregivers as much they are instructors. I don’t mind that for me, I know nothing else. But for him…”

“Do you worry about him?”

“…”

“Is that what this is about, Bea? On top of everything that’s happened? Do you care about this boy?”

“They’re not capable of giving him emotional support. He’s very…emotional. He’s different to me. He needs………………love. A loving family.”

“……That’s very mature of you, Bea. But-” Mustard rolls the now empty bag back into his pocket “–that wasn’t what I asked. Do you care about him? This nameless child?”

“…”

Her new ‘brother’ (if she could even really call him that) was timid beyond belief, offering one- or two-word answers to questions at best. If he ever answered. Sometimes he’d just stare off into space like he was seeing something they couldn’t.

And that was if he even stayed. He was so jumpy with them that Bea found herself intensely frustrated with that aspect alone, even forgetting the fact he was with them at all. It wasn’t right.

“What’s his name?” Mustard asks, deciding to reorient the conversation to something his student is willing to answer.

“Allister. Like I said, it’s the only thing he remembers.”

“Do you care about Allister, Bea? Have you become his emotional support where your parents are lacking?”

“I don’t do emotions,” she declares, though her stony façade is betraying her. She sits up, clearly bewildered more than anything.

Mustard can see his student does care, even if she doesn’t understand how or why. Though caring doesn’t come naturally to her, the spark is there. It always was, just like it is in every person.

All it ever takes is some kindling.

“He’s…less wary of me than my parents. Probably because I’m closer to him in age. I’m more ‘sturdy than scary’.”

“His words?”

Bea nods slowly.

“With a lot more stuttering, but yes. Don’t get me wrong, he’s terrified of everyone and everything including me.” Bea reaches for the bag of bonbons again; Mustard produces a second. Whether it’s just a placebo or not she doesn’t know but they seem to be doing her the world of good.

“He’s only four years old. It must be hard on him too, no?”

“…”

“I know this situation is hard for you. It’s not what you expected. It’s not what I expected. I’ll tell you something else, though.” Mustard leans in, as if imparting some great secret; Bea plays along. “I don’t think it’s what he expected either.”

“…”

“Your new brother seems very afraid, and very alone. He’s been just as thrust into an unfamiliar situation as you. Life does that sometimes.”

“I…I…what are you…saying?”

“I’m saying he’s alone right now, but he doesn’t have to be,” Mustard finishes, watching carefully for his student’s reaction.

“You’re saying I should…embrace this?” Bea’s automatic response is to…she honestly doesn’t know anymore. So long has life been on autopilot that coming to her own conclusions has never been worthwhile. Always disregarded or pushed aside.

“It will take time,” Mustard encourages. “But I believe this will be good for you.”

“Good for me? You’re asking me to ignore all the warning signs that this is weird and doesn’t make any sense?”

“No, I’m asking you to _look past_ the fact this doesn’t make a whole lot of sense and try and turn it into something good. For both your sakes.” Mustard closes his eyes, sighing. “To adapt to change is one of the truest strengths a person can have, Bea. I know you’re strong and I know you’re capable. You can do this.”

“This isn’t…the sort of training I was ever prepared for,” Bea points out, but she can tell her words are losing their meaning. She tries again, this time saying what she actually feels: “I don’t know how this…situation…and me training to become a gym leader fit together. I don’t know how to be a sister. Not to him, not to anyone.”

“Are you worried about doing a bad job?

“…” Bea has many answers to that question, each hidden under layer upon layer of unseen fear.

“Bea?”

“I…don’t know. I don’t know anything. I was never taught how to do…people.”

“Rephrase that for me, please.” Mustard is gentle but firm; Bea sighs deeply, bracing herself for just one more ugly truth.

“My parents never taught me.”

“Thank you. Pretending things like this are a nebulous burden for a young-un such as you to bear just isn’t right.”

“I don’t know what’s right and wrong here.”

“If I were to ask you whether you think compassion is right, you wouldn’t know?”

“I wouldn’t,” Bea states. Not from any malice, but from a genuine lack of understanding.

“In battle is it right to hit a downed opponent? Someone who’s conceded defeat?”

“No, that isn’t the honourable thing.”

“Substitute in honour for compassion, and you’ve got it. It might surprise you to know that _I_ know you have empathy, Bea. That’s why you’re feeling the way you are.” He points to the centre of her chest. “In here.”

A symbolic gesture more than anything but Bea would have been lying had she not felt her heart twinge.

“Are empathy and compassion different?”

“A fantastic question!” Mustard doesn’t clap gleefully as he is prone to do but looks excited all the same. The echoing it would no doubt have produced may well have broken the spell that had overcome the two.

“I don’t understand…”

“Then allow me. Empathy is _feeling_ something, compassion is _choosing_ to do something about it.”

“…”

“I know you’ve been feeling,” he reiterates. “Now choose to act on it.”

“But…why? I don’t understand,” Bea says for the umpteenth time. “I don’t understand why I care even a little for Allister? We’re not related. We’re nothing too each other.” Bea finally notices her hands twitching; she folds them against her chest.

“Your parents,” he states simply.

“My parents…?”

“Your parents. Be honest with me, Bea, please. Tell me.”

“………………………I’m worried about what they’re doing…to him.”

Mustard says nothing, leaving the silence as an open invitation.

“They trained me from near birth.” Bea’s hands break free without her realising, resuming their clenching. “That’s fine. But him…he’s already got his own ideas and personality. Even if I don’t understand it one bit.”

“You don’t think their training will work?”

“No. He crumbles too easily. They’re just trying to push and push and push him. He runs away. He gets frustrated. He cries. He’s a crybaby.”

“You disapprove?”

“…”

“Bea…”

“I don’t know. Maybe. I suppose. It’s hard. He’s not…” she trails off, unsure. “He’s weak, but he’s not doing anything wrong. Their training style and his personality…if I can call it that…don’t work.”

“Ah…I get it.”

“You do?”

“You don’t understand him, but you know your parents don’t understand him either. You know inside that it’s going to hurt him. That’s where your connection to him lies.”

Bea considers the words carefully. Is ‘empathy by proxy’ the reason? She knows by now her parents have treated her harshly by the standards of any loving parent.

Seeing their designs be turned on someone so meek and mild does more than just make her feel for the boy. It’s gone and lit the spark to a far uglier emotion directed solely towards her parents, but she isn’t sure what to make of the feeling yet.

“My parents only know how to train in certain ways.” That much she knows to be a fact. “They worked with only me so they’ve never seen any reason to do anything different.”

“You’re showing an awareness I know you wouldn’t have seen in years gone by.”

“…Thanks.” Bea is overwhelmingly grateful to _finally_ have someone to lay everything out to. Not just tidbits of her life to either Avery or Klara, but an actual catharsis.

_I never expected to need one. Life really does throw curve balls._

Thinking of life in those uncertain terms was also a development she’d never expected to experience. For so long had her willpower been all Bea needed to power through. Now life was proving her wrong, and that stopping and thinking truly had its own merits.

“So what do you want to do?”

“Again, I don’t know.”

Mustard is pleased his student has calmed down for the time being, but it’s realistically only half the battle; sending her back home with no clear guidance would only set her back to square one.

He strongly considers telling Bea what she thinks she needs to hear; to just treat the situation as another challenge to overcome. Either as an instruction from the Master or of her own volition. Though it seems good in principle, he knows it’s a fallacy.

She’d still be playing by the rules her parents set.

One more construct keeping her from true growth of character.

In order for her to truly learn she’d have to do it on her own. Though she may have sought him out for guidance, a remarkable step in the right direction, the path was still hers and hers alone.

That wasn’t to say a little push wouldn’t hurt.

“What if you…were to get to know Allister a little better, eh?” Mustard shrugs, shaking away the sand trying to cling to his jacket. “If you decide you don’t actually like him that much then he’s not your problem. However, if you do…you might think about this whole situation a little differently, no? A positive, perhaps?”

“Master…” Bea pauses, unsure. “It sounds to me you already think… I _will_ end up liking this. Liking him,” she says, a little quieter this time.

Mustard shrugs again.

“You won’t know unless you give this a chance. Unless you give _him_ a chance.”

“I can’t promise you or him I’ll do a perfect job. Or even a good one,” she adds. “Like I said, I’m not a people person.”

“You’ve been coming here for seven years now. If the rate of growth in a person was fast, we’d all be ‘perfect’ wouldn’t we?”

“I guess so.”

“The gift of sisterhood has been given to you, Bea. No matter the circumstances, try to look past it. I guarantee Allister will thank you for it in the long run.

Bea pictures the perpetually shivering, cowering, mask wearing tiny figure trying to hide inside of her wardrobe back at home. So meek, so mild.

Her mind made up: she nods.

“I’ll try, Master.”

Bea is 13 when she decides to (at least for the time being) try and embrace life’s strangest test yet: The boy from nowhere, appearing in her life to disrupt the very foundations her fortress is built on.

Her parents, in their hubris, believing they can turn him into another upstanding member of society. Their view and his are certainly different. Bea is 13 when she decides hers and her parents don’t align entirely either.

Bea is 13 and ashamed it took such a large event to lift the goggles her parents have fitted over her existence. Then and there she has decided that getting to know Allister isn’t the worst idea in the world, and maybe (just maybe) she can help him.

* * *

Bea is 15, and different but the same. Her hair is longer, her muscles more defined, and her gaze as stern as ever, but she is a far cry from the emotionless young girl she once was.

That isn’t to say she doesn’t have an image to uphold, and her peers on the Isle of Armor (and school) both see only what she wants them to. Her image is important, and her image is strength.

Bea is 15 and has finally realised her dream. Not just her parents’, but her own: she has become the newest gym leader in the major league’s rotation. With Hitmontop, Machoke, and a Pancham on her side, the ground type specialist and their gym trainers have been run out of Stow-on-Side.

Bea hadn’t even known the event was going to be televised, but hindsight is 20/20. All direct challenges are televised for the sake of the public and the League sponsors.

She is grateful to be able stay strong under the pressure of it all.

Just knowing her parents were in the crowd of thousands was enough to hold her attention in the here and now. And what a wild crowd it was! People were cheering…cheering for _her._ Whistling, yelling, clapping…all for her and her team.

Bea had decided then and there if that wasn’t genuine happiness, then she didn’t know what genuine happiness was.

Elation, pure and simple. The seeds her parents had strove so diligently to salt had blossomed spectacularly. Bea thinks her life was better for it, giving her a stronger connection to her team even if her parents would refute such a thing.

_Based on what? It’s not like you were the ones to win that match._

After all din had died down she’d even gotten to meet the chairman of the entire league himself. Another obvious caveat she should have seen coming. To his credit he was very impressed with her and her abilities.

Though she was by no means the youngest gym leader in history (she believed that honour went to Hoenn), he made the offhanded comment that she must have trained particularly hard to break through her opponents Hippowdon without a fully evolved team.

That had snapped her right back to reality. That and his weirdly attentive secretary.

Now that she had completed her ‘task’, her parents were pushing her to even greater heights.

Bea allows herself a rare moment of reprieve. She’s come out to the island beyond the Tower of Waters to think, the height of the structure providing an ideal windbreak on an otherwise windy Galarian evening.

As she sits on the sandy shore, her parent’s words come to mind.

_‘You’ve performed to our expectations daughter. Truly we are proud of you and the training you’ve taken.’_

_‘Now you must keep up the momentum. Due to the weakness of the ground gym, Stow-on-Side only ranks bottom in the major league. You must work to improve it. Consider that your next step.’_

After all the hours of training Bea had put in over the years, letting the gym slip into the minor league would be tantamount to defeat.

Bea is no fool and knows her parents are right.

_But would it have killed you be truly be proud of me instead of just saying it?_

She knows full well people can say things without meaning it. Anything Klara says comes to mind, or bullies at school who say sorry to get off scot free.

More and more lately has Bea been feeling distant from her parent’s way of life. Not that they were ever particularly close to start with, but now it’s different. It’s not apathy keeping them from each other, but a difference in ideals.

_With Allister acting as a catalyst._

That isn’t to say that there were other reasons, Bea has been feeling the way she has for years now since Mustard had opened her eyes. Even if she’s never been able to put names to the feelings she’s felt, they’ve been bubbling below the surface. Watching. Waiting.

However, the introduction of her new ‘brother’ (and Bea stills weird calling the relationship that) has opened her eyes yet wider than she thought possible; the concerns she once shared with the Master are being realised.

Bea leans back on her palms as the near frigidity of the air causes her to shiver. The Tower is tall and mighty, but it cannot stop the winds of change.

_Why do they insist on pushing him? It’s obviously not effective in training him._

It had been in the back of her mind since she first got the all clear from the League to challenge her hometown’s gym.

_Once I got what they wanted…they were going to turn their attention to him._

Again, she was proven right. Bea feels the pang of her heart threatening to cause another genuine emotion to surface, but she silences it for now. More and more frequently had that been happening.

Guilt.

She’d known that when she succeeded her parents would likely focus on Allister. For her, winning back the gym was the main objective. Climbing the rankings was just an added bonus.

“No need for extra supervision anymore,” Bea murmurs, scrunching her toes into the sand.

If Allister was meek and mild before, after both parents started to focus solely on him, he’d become even worse.

At first Bea had been content to just be a passive bystander in it all. The boy who’d appeared on their doorstep wasn’t related to her. They weren’t family. Why should she care?

True enough, Bea found she did.

Even if the two seldom saw eye to eye; in many ways they were opposites. He liked to stay up into the night while she liked to rise early. She liked routine and rigidity in training while he preferred his own pace, and to explore. Night and day. Freedom and routine.

However seeing the boy cry made it known to Bea’s inner self that the differences didn’t matter. Not when her parents didn’t understand why their efforts weren’t working.

Much to their chagrin, Allister had a natural affinity for the ghost type. The antithesis to their prized fighting types.

Bea allows herself to shiver, though the wind has little to do with it. She recognises her own prejudices are at work (in no small part to her parents) but she can’t stand ghosts. Even one as disciplined as she gets scared for reasons she can’t place.

_It’s just innate, like it is in most people. Ghosts are the natural opposite of fighting types. They’re sneaky and hard to pin down, whereas fighting types face things head on._

Of course her new brother liked them. If Bea didn’t know better, she would have said they were drawn to him.

Her skin prickles at the memory, her hair standing slightly to attention as well. Allister’s abilities weren’t as neatly defined as Avery’s or a conventional psychic…but he had s _omething._

There were significantly more Gastly lurking around the property after he showed up. Ghost Pokémon of all kinds really, not that Bea cares for the subtleties. They’re all creepy to her. Duskull, Lampent, the occasional Haunter.

Her parents remained aware, but unconcerned as long as none of them got in the house. Bea suspected they did. How did one keep ghosts out of anywhere?

Then there was the Mimikyu incident.

If his ‘hair spike’ (as she had taken to calling it) glowing purple and pointing towards the nearest ghost wasn’t enough, one day Allister had gone out and come back with a Pokémon of his own.

He sneaked out of the house in the dead of night to explore an abandoned Pokémon centre, where he’d then found a Mimikyu. Or rather, they’d found each other.

Bea’s parents were at a loss, not believing it possible the boy alone could have captured a Pokémon known for its propensity for resentment.

After some pressing, he’d let out that the Mimikyu had simply decided to go into a pokéball of its own volition. To stay with him.

_Maybe that sums him up then. He certainly doesn’t like my parents, I can get that much out of him._

Naturally her parents weren’t happy, and tried secretly to remove the disguise Pokémon from the household on numerous occasions; it would always end up under the covers with Allister by the next morning.

Bea finds herself honestly wondering why the boy chooses to stay. He can leave the house whenever he wants, be he ward of the state of otherwise. He often chooses to stargaze during the nights, or venture out into graveyards.

_He clearly isn’t happy with them. Why does he stay?_

Bea notes she’s unconsciously removed herself from the equation; when she thinks of the household, she thinks of her parents and her as separate entities.

She wonders when she started thinking that.

Still, it isn’t a total loss. Mustard had asked her to try, and try Bea had. She had little success during their first year living together if she was being brutally honest.

She knew she was wooden…uninviting. The boy had nothing to latch onto with her and in turn paid her little mind except during her down time. She’d catch him staring sometimes. Even with the mask Bea got the sneaking suspicion his gaze was on her.

Observing her. Seeing if she was safe. Like an animal approaching a predator.

_Guess I am to him. I’m tall compared to him, which I don’t usually get to experience. Tall and bulky. I think if he sneezes too hard he’ll snap like a twig._

Naturally all of her attempts at being welcoming fell flat, and her face more likened to a scowl then any sort of warm smile.

The first year had gone and went. When she’d returned to the Isle of Armor last year she’d made as much known to Mustard; he told her to keep at it. That he was proud she was trying.

_‘Should I be proud of my failure?’_

_‘Only if you’re unafraid to admit that failure is a excellent path to progress!’_

Bea has been playing that conversation in her head on repeat, hoping for the day it would pay off.

Eventually it did. Not so much a day, than a night.

Bea has heard the cries before. Night terrors from the young Allister. His sniffles and crying had gone unaddressed for the most part by her parents, believing only discipline would straighten them out. Bea herself didn’t know what to believe. Not until _that_ night anyway.

If anything they just made her more suspicious of the boy. There were clearly traumatic memories he couldn’t process. Ending up on their doorstep was definitely not the only baggage he brought with him.

Bea had gotten up to get some water that night. Dehydration was not the path to strength, after all. She’d heard the whines of fear, nothing new, as she walked past. And then she’d stopped.

Whether it had just been her mind deciding enough was enough, or blind faith that she could do _anything_ to help him, she’d instead wiped the glass down and set it on his bedside table.

Such a simple act of kindness wasn’t to be taken lightly, and Allister had initially tried to hide under his blanket and pretend he wasn’t there. Mimikyu was on high alert too, Bea knew those beady eyes following her anywhere.

Since when had the older girl shown him kindness? Since when had anyone in the house he’d been taken into?

When Bea assured him that the water was indeed for him (to drink, she’d specified. Not to throw over him as he’d feared), Allister had peeked his head out.

Bea had then asked if he wanted her to stay and Allister had nodded, though not without significant hesitation.

The two were absolutely not ‘touchy’ people, but Bea gave the best attempt at a hug she could muster.

_If Avery can hug his Slowpoke than I’m going to at least try and hug my damn brother._

It was incredibly stiff, and not exactly what either of them had been after, but it had been what they both _needed_.

From that moment on things had been different. A slight ray of life in their otherwise incarcerated existences.

Then Bea had gone and become a gym leader and her work was rendered moot as her parents doubled their efforts with him. Leading her to now…

“But what can I do?” Bea’s voice was lost to the wind. Just as she liked it. Saying as much on the main island was something she’d never try.

Idle gossip only happened because people couldn’t keep their mouths shut, she reasons. People like Klara were certainly not the kind of people she needed to hear her ‘drama’.

Speaking of, both her and Avery were surprised to learn she’d succeeded in becoming what they desired. Most of the dojo was. Honey had even thrown her a special meal, despite her protests.

_‘I don’t need any special treatment, Miss Honey. Anyone can become a leader with enough work.’_

_‘All the more reasons to celebrate all the work you put in, dear.’_

Mustard wasn’t complaining, more food was always a plus. He’d gone as far as to joke the rest of the dojo should follow suit and join the League, so they’d have more occasions to eat this well.

Bea had noted Klara staring sourly at her meal before slipping away. Avery had just huffed, insisting that because there were more than 18 students they’d have to double up on types if they were all going to join…and of course he was going to beat everyone.

_I look forward to facing you properly then._

That was her only thought on the matter. Klara had made it known, in no uncertain terms, that she felt very similarly. Of course she acted the part of an innocent dame for the majority, but not to Bea.

Bea still hasn’t worked out whether that’s a good thing or not.

Beside the point for now, and Bea pushes all other thoughts out of her working mind; the rising sea air does indeed do her good.

Whether she knew what to do or not, Allister’s and her lives were intertwined. The very least she could do was let the threads be of silk and not a thorn bush.

Bea cracks her knuckles on reflex.

“When did I get sappy like that? That kid…my brother…I say the dumbest things when I’m thinking of him. Suppose it beats being my parent’s puppet though…”

Not that she knew any of the other gym leaders well, but none of them knew her secret. Why would they? Only the chairman and his overbearing assistant knew about Allister.

They seemed nice though, even if she didn’t have anyone to talk to yet.

“You’re new,” Bea chides. “You’re…better now. You can talk with people a little easier. Talking with Allister has made you better at that.”

It was a little sad, but talking with someone so quiet gave Bea ample time practice her deliveries. Make her seem less…cardboard cut-out.

“The water type leader seems nice. Strong too. It was her gym who beat Avery all those years ago.”

Bea was better with names now but by no means great. The only names she could recall were the water gym’s (Nessa, she believed), her next target, Milo, who was said to be ranked 2nd from the bottom, and the motherly woman by name of Melony.

Bea’s idea of what a mother should be was innately skewed, but it didn’t mean she didn’t have ears. The kids at school would often say how their mothers had packed their lunch or picked them up from school.

No such luck for her.

Melony embodied that…at least until she started to fight.

“Ice cold professional alright.”

Bea’s first exhibition match she was privy to as a gym leader was the ice type leader against the dragon type. A narrow loss for Melony but still an amazing display of strength. A gigantamax Lapras was truly a sight to behold.

Then afterwards she’d offered to make tea for her.

Not just for everyone, but her personally. The voluptuous woman had wandered over and actually offered. Bea had had to look over her shoulder to check she wasn’t in the way of someone else.

That had prompted the beautiful laugh she’d ever heard, and Bea had more or less been won over. The tea was sweetened to perfection as well. If there was a definitive way to get in her good books, it was sweetness.

“Am I really so shallow?”

Bea reminds herself that Mustard has been doing exactly that for her entire time on the island. It’s hardly a new development unlike everything else.

Her time on the dojo has desensitised Bea to idle gossip, but she gets the feeling the rumours surrounding Melony’s son have a grain of truth.

While she’s no expert at reading people even she can see the switch from ‘ice cold professional’ to ‘tea making mother figure’ wasn’t as clean cut as Melony would have people believe.

“She has family problems…like I do. If there’s anyone who can understand what I’m going though…it might be her.”

Bea doesn’t want to presume anything. The ice type leader might well not want to talk about anything relating to those sorts of subjects, and understandably so.

Only time would tell. Bea knows she’s out of her depth no matter how hard she tries.

That doesn’t mean she isn’t trying. Arceus knows she’s trying her best.

How good her best is will soon be laid bare by time.

Bea is 15 and although her ‘task’ is completed, she feels like her journey has just begun. Trying to embrace a pathway that can see her and her new brother walking side by side.

Bea is but 15 when she begins to finally grasp that random acts of kindness aren’t an inherent weakness of humanity, but a strength.

She can recognise the degree of effort she has to exert just to talk to Allister, so that makes it worthwhile in her eyes.

Bea is 15 and worries that her new brother might drown in the darkness of her parent’s whirlpool before she has a chance to get to know him properly.

While not an amazing swimmer, Bea is 15 and on lifeguard duty for them both.

* * *

Bea is 18 when she returns to the Isle of Armor for the final time. It doesn’t end quite the way she’s envisioned but end it does.

Bea is 18 and wants to blame Klara for the way things turned out but blaming only one person would be omitting her own failings. Bea is acutely aware of them.

Her parents had insisted that she take Allister with her this year.

_“We admit our failings for now, daughter. We should have sent him along with you a long time ago.”_

_“If Master Mustard can improve you to such fine heights, then he can do the same for this boy.”_

Bea understands their logic perfectly. To them, Master Mustard is the pinnacle for all a trainer can be. Bea herself holds him in the highest regards…but he’s no miracle worker. Even the legendary dojo master himself can’t create something that doesn’t exist.

Fighting spirit.

Allister isn’t a fighter.

That isn’t to say he isn’t strong as a trainer; Bea has done some minor work with him before coming over the summer. His bond with his ghost types is unmatched, and it serves him well.

He just doesn’t like to fight. If anything he just likes to show off his ghost types to anyone who’ll listen. If a battle is the best way then he’ll agree with barely restrained enthusiasm. It’s almost adorable to Bea.

But Allister’s ‘fighting spirit’, as they say, just isn’t compatible with the norm.

Bea can tell Mustard sensed as much the second he laid eyes on the boy, shivering under his gaze. Trying to hide behind her for the most part. Mustard is smart and doesn’t separate them at all, even during drills.

In the three years since Bea became a gym leader, their relationship has blossomed into something Bea didn’t think possible for herself. Something genuine.

It took them months of hard work, both working hard together, but they can finally talk relatively normally with the other. Complete sentences, not just one- or two-word answers.

To some it might have sounded laughable, but not to Bea. The whole scenario would sound laughable to someone who didn’t know the effort that gone in on both parties ends. Clearly they’d both wanted it enough to make it work.

Such a thought warms Bea’s heart.

_But now he’s here on the island. What a mistake. He doesn’t fit in at all._

Not in the same way Bea hadn’t fit in at first. She’d prided herself on the distance she constructed between her and her fellow students: Allister is terrified of new people.

Her parents know this and made her take him anyway.

 _If I just been stronger…if I’d just stood up to them……then what?_ She thinks, dourly. _Leave him alone again with them for another two months? At least this way I can be here to anchor him._

It also meant that other things that were once only theory had become practice.

Klara’s inability to get to Bea in any meaningful way had suddenly become a reality. Through Allister, she quickly realised she could push the fighting type leader’s buttons without so much as lifting a painted finger.

The fact she would dare stoop so low or the fact that it worked; Bea isn’t sure what angers her the most.

_“I always said I’d take any advantage, Jellybea. Did you think I was joking? Teehee, you’re a big silly you are! Any victory over you is a good one! Alliboy and I get along swimmingly, you’re just not seeing it!”_

Bea had sensed the trouble immediately but no matter how vigilant she could be, Klara’s uncanny omnipresence makes keeping her away from Allister impossible. She’d only mess with him in small ways, of course.

Moving a stick, shaking a leaf, blowing near him. Mild annoyances for most people but tailor-made panic attacks for the young boy.

If Klara’s goal was to get to Bea through him (which it was), she was succeeding.

Her incessant pestering combined with the severity of the training has taken a toll on him, both physically and mentally.

_He has a total lack of energy to start with but this…it’s like watching a pool deflate._

A strange analogy but Bea has none better.

She seriously considers going to the Master about all of this, but what can he do? Klara isn’t doing anything that’s wrong, other than being a huge thorn in her side. She doesn’t break any rules, to which she smugly reminds Bea of when confronted.

Allister witnesses said confrontation but shrinks back, hating that his sister has to fight these battles on his behalf. Just fighting the urge to run takes up most of his brain’s capacity.

_Exhausting to the point of fatigue._

He feels like he’s ruining everything, despite Bea’s reassurances. Everything was fine and dandy until he blundered in.

Allister’s mind can’t accept that Bea’s parents forced him here. It will always be his fault.

At least how he sees things now. Hopefully in the future Bea can teach him to unlearn the insecurities within…or at least be at peace with the person he is.

Bea has bigger things on her mind for now, but it’s by no means forgotten.

Mustard has summoned her to the lounge after the days training. He knows. Bea knows he knows, and in turn Mustard knows she knows he knows.

Her head is swimming just trying to process it. As if the actual issues that have arisen aren’t enough; Bea knows she’s beginning to strain. She hates to use her fallback of ‘I was never trained for this’, but there’s a nasty truth to it.

Allister coming with her was far too soon. Sure they were speaking, but it didn’t mean they were perfect. Removing him from the only environment he knew to come here…Bea knows it was a mistake. Thrust out of his comfort zone with people twice his size and four times the weight yelling and training……a mistake to be sure.

A fool may have called it an error in judgment, but Bea is nobody’s fool; her parents never made a judgment. They just _decided_ and didn’t bother to think.

_I should’ve stood up to them. Even after years you still can’t do it, Bea. You’re still weak._

The Master is waiting for her and Bea doesn’t want to be late.

He’s allowing Honey and Avery to keep watch over Allister in the meantime. Honey because she’s a responsible adult (unlike some) and Avery because he’s the only other person Allister seems to interact with.

While not exactly a psychic, his abilities are strange enough for Avery to raise an eyebrow and try and engage him in conversation.

_He tries…and that’s the main thing._

Klara is nowhere in sight since their…’disagreement’, and Bea hopes to keep it that way. Hopefully the Master won’t take too long and she can go back to watching over Allister herself.

He’s only in the kitchen, but it’s too far away for her liking.

_At least he’ll be entertained._

Avery will no doubt be showing off his telekinetic card tricks while Honey fixes a meal. Allister has always been thin, much to her worry.

“You sent for me, Master?” Bea bows. Strangely, so does the Master.

Bea doesn’t think she’s ever seen him do so. At least not outside of a battle.

“I did, Bea. Sit if you like.” His tone is warm but forthright. Bea appreciates it but the apprehension still hangs in the air like dirty laundry.

She sits opposite him on the couch, opting against the floor this time. Better on equal ground for something of this magnitude.

“I’m…sorry.”

“You’re sorry?”

“Yes.” Bea can think of nothing else to say. It’s at least partially her fault the status quo as been upended.

Mustard leans back into the couch. His game is off for once, not paused on the TV across the room.

“You’ve grown so much, Bea. The flowers within have bloomed into something wonderful.”

“Thank you…but I don’t understand.”

“…And now I think you’re done learning from me.”

Now _that_ sends a shock through Bea’s system.

“Wh-what? Master Mustard you can’t be serious! I…I’m falling apart here!”

Before she knows it, she’s holding a packet of dried pecha flakes. The Master is always prepared, and Bea thanks him for it. The only way he’s ever been able to calm her down, no matter how silly it may look.

“The path of your life was always a strange one. I told you once you alone had to walk that path and I could only guide you.” Mustard sighs, the room seeming that much dimmer despite it being only early evening. “I stand by that. But now you have him too.”

“Allister?”

“He’s on the path with you, Bea. He might not be walking it exactly, but he’s there. No matter if he twists out of sight I suspect you’ll walk into your next chapters together.”

“You keep saying that,” Bea mumbles. She wants to pretend it’s the fruit flakes and she’s being polite. It’s only half true. “It’s only halfway through the summer. Surely I’m not done learning from you? Even if I had twenty more summers, I don’t think I’d be done!”

“Only someone who recognises their own flaws would saw that. Do you remember how you were when you first came to the island?”

Bea does. For better or worse.

“I was arrogant. Crude. Maybe I still am…but it was worse, _I_ was worse.”

“Your parents were trying to walk your path for you, alas. Now they’re doing the same with your brother.”

“…”

“How does that make you feel, Bea?”

“…” The clenching of her hands into fists says enough. A nonverbal giveaway that’s survived the years of her parents trying to snatch it from her. “He’s a child. A damn child.”

She looks away, looking just about anywhere but the Master’s eye; she’s anticipated the question and scowls, silver eyes narrowing.

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“You know I don’t have an answer. My parents just sending him here with me is something I can’t control. I thought…I don’t know.”

“Bea…”

“I didn’t know…at first. How it would work. I’ve always been so cut off from my emotions. But with him-” As Bea meets the Master’s eye again she can feel her own start to betray her; a single tear breaks free to stain the cushions. –“I feel better. He’s made me better. I _like_ him in my life. But the life I have now…it’s always going to be too much for him. I can’t protect him from my parents forever.”

“Why not?” Mustard observes the multitude of emotions running across his student’s face with a sort of pride. There was a time when such a display would have been out of the question.

“What do you mean ‘why not?’ They’re my parents!”

“And how old are you now, Bea?”

“…Eighteen.”

“Does being a gym leader pay well?”

“…” Between the actual salary and the sponsors she didn’t know she’d get, it’s a lot more than Bea thought it would. She hadn’t even realised gym leaders got paid at all. Ever the narrow-minded student.

The only reward she was promised was the position itself. Never the money.

She nods. Mustard continues.

“So theoretically…you could move out?”

“…”

The silence is deafening. There are many things that have never occurred to Bea. While it’s true of any human, things such as these were always particularly difficult.

Until Allister, just the idea of a relationship to another person was only a crude theory. Held together with bubblegum and string. Now it was physical, from something that had once seemed out of reach.

“Not…live…with my parents?”

“You’re of age and you have an income, why not?”

“B-but…” The gears are turning.

She’s always lived with them. It makes perfect sense. They’re her environment and her role models. Even if she’s believing it less and less over time, the idea of the template snapping completely just hasn’t been thought about.

The gears turn faster, and the Master can see his student’s face scrunching up.

Why _shouldn’t_ she? What more could she gain? She’d done as they asked and won Stow-on-Side back. Not for them, but for _her._ Though it was their idea…their dream…she’d made it her own.

Looking back on it, everything leading up to that match had been for them, Bea realises.

_Until I actually got on the pitch._

Then it was just her and her team. She’d won because she and her team had worked together _and_ cared about the result. For _themselves_ and not anyone else.

All in all, it might have been the craziest idea Bea had ever heard…but it wasn’t impossible. At least in theory. In practice…

“I’m not leaving Allister,” Bea states. “I could never…he’s not…he’s…”

“He’s what, Bea?”

“He’s _family,_ ” she finishes.

Bea wonders when exactly it was that she’d started believing that. When they’d first hugged on that night like no other? When she’d gone behind her parents back to buy him that ice cream? When he’d tried to sneak into her room with a blanket because he felt scared and she was the only person who made him feel safe?

_The first time we said we love each other?_

“I can’t leave him behind, Master.” Bea shakes her head to emphasise her point. “I might be able to be self sufficient but if the cost is him…I can’t. If my parents ever cross a line, I know………”

“Finish, Bea. I know you can do it.”

“I know I’d stop them.” Bea folds her hands, ashamed. “I should have stopped them making him come.”

“Oh?”

“Am I…am I a bad sister? For letting all this happen? Everything with my parents and Klara…do I have the right to look him in the eye?”

“Sometimes it’s only after you see the damages that you can appreciate their effects. No one will hold that against you Bea,” Mustard intones gently.

Bea remains unconvinced (if her lapse back into admiring his wall is anything to go by); he follows her gaze to a small banner reading ‘change’. Quite right. 

“Besides, I didn’t ask you to leave your brother behind, did I? I’d be a monster if I did.”

“…What?”

“Take him with you,” he simply says. “You’re of legal age to care for a minor, aren’t you?”

“W-well yeah but…my parents…”

“What about them? Tell me where they fit in, Bea?”

She pauses, considering it.

Strictly speaking, her parents never adopted Allister. Ever since he showed up his ‘guardian’ has been the Kingdom of Galar as a whole. Ward of the state.

“You’re suggesting I…adopt him? Make it official?”

“I don’t need to ask if you care about him, Bea. What I do need to ask is, do your parents have any more right to him than you do?”

“…No. Not legally…not morally.”

“So you can do it.”

It sounds so simple when he puts it like that. Maybe it _is_ simple and she’s overcomplicating it? Why not? What’s actually stopping her?

“I…could…in theory,” Bea says carefully. “But I still don’t have enough money to get my own place yet. I’d need us to be secure or Allister would only worry more.”

Mustard waves the question away.

“Honey and I have already agreed to help you search. We can cover some elementary costs like moving and whatnot.”

“What? I can’t accept that!”

“And why ever not?”

“…”

It just feels wrong. The Master has already given so much of his time to her. Accepting money just wouldn’t be right.

Bea voices as much but is waved away a second time.

“You can pay us back when you’re able, if it’d help you sleep.”

“…Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why are you being so…kind to me? To us?”

“Think of it like a parting gift, no? You’ve been training here since you were a young-un! Time to let the Fletchling fly the nest.”

“I still don’t understand, Master. Am I really done here on the Isle of Armor? I’m sure there’s more I could do…”

“But not anything you can’t learn yourself,” he finishes. “As far as I’m concerned, you’re a graduate of my Dojo.”

“Don’t I have to fight Urshifu and yourself? Challenge a tower?”

Last year the students had the great honour of training together with one of the Master’s Kubfu. Just another reason added to the long, long list of reasons why Bea and Klara’s relationship had soured.

Due to not being a poison type, Klara never saw any reason to respect the wushu Pokémon at all. She’d called it worthless when it was her turn to train, leaving outside in a storm; she’d earned herself a summer of bathroom duty but Bea had never forgiven her.

It’s both a blessing and a curse Mustard is so forgiving. Bea knows it’s allowed her to flourish. Any other taskmaster would have just told her to ‘get on with it’…but then another taskmaster may have been more severe with the poison type expert.

“I suspect you’d give us all a good battle, but time is against us for now.” Mustard does sound genuinely disappointed, to his credit. Bea knows she likely wouldn’t stand a chance against his power, even with her Machamp now able to gigantamax.

Another of her parent’s boxes ticked. It turned out _soup_ of all things was the secret ingredient to success. She hadn’t mentioned that part to them for fear of ridicule.

Still, she never says no to a worthy fight.

The Master is right, however. Allister is worse by the day, stressing himself out in an unfamiliar environment. Unfamiliar sounds, sights, textures. It’s all too much.

“What about Klara?”

“Sent home for now.”

That’s good news, but Bea knows it won’t last. The Master will allow her back next year to see if she’s changed at all. Bea suspects she won’t, but if anything be that much better at acting the part.

Bea is half tempted to press for worse, but the mood isn’t right for such a remark. She doesn’t want to draw anymore attention to the scenario than necessary; the Master is already helping her in ways she doesn’t think she’s entitled to.

He’s been calm despite everything unlike herself.

“I’ll have to talk to my parents about this,” Bea says at length. “Even if there’s nothing they can do I don’t want to end this on bad terms.”

“A very mature decision. Heehoo, I’ll even tell them myself how strong you are now! Just to smooth everything out what with you leaving mid-summer.”

Bea raises an eyebrow but forces a smile to her features.

“Are they really going to believe that?”

“Young Bea, if they’re not gonna believe me then maybe we’ve both gotten them all wrong.”

“…That’s understandable. My parents have always worshipped the ground you stand on.”

“Ah goodie, then they’ll likely give you their blessings when you move.”

“I don’t even have a place picked out.” It’s not so much a detriment to the ‘master plan’ as it were, but it’s a sticking point in her mind. As ever, Mustard sets her at ease.

“Honey and I _might_ have assumed you’d agree, and already picked out a couple for you to look at.”

“…Of course you did.” This time Bea is smiling for real. The Master has always been one step ahead of her. Right from the very beginning. “When could we…do this?”

“No time like the present!” A return to form as Mustard claps gleefully. Bea wasn’t aware she was missing his silly little routines until they’re upon her. It’s…nice. The tension is gone.

A room is just a room with no one in it. The Master has always injected his personality into everything he’s done.

Bea can only hope their new place will be as lively.

“I should pack then. I’m assuming you’ve got a taxi on call?”

“Ah, nothing gets by you anymore, Bea. No more surprises, eh?”

Bea shakes her head as she’s dismissed, though a smile still ghosts across her features. The Master is being disingenuous, and Bea has never been able to predict his movements. Now she never will, but she doesn’t care.

“Alli?”

“S-sis?”

Allister is in the kitchen, as expected; Avery’s house of cards collapses as he loses concentration. He sighs but keeps his annoyances in line for now; he’s figured it out, obviously.

 _A ‘responsible adult’ like him? Of course._ He’d started calling himself as much when Bea was 16. It’s silly, but Bea knows he means well.

Honey greets her too, with Bea thanking her for her and her husband’s contributions. Allister is confused of course.

“Alli, we’re leaving. I can help you pack if you like?”

“Leaving…where?”

“Back to the mainland. We’re not going to be staying here anymore. It’s not working.”

“S-sorry…”

Bea takes him aside, the other two giving them space so they can talk; she kneels down to her brother’s height.

“I know what you’re thinking. You think this is you’re to blame for this but you also don’t want to go back home to my parents?”

Allister just nods. Understandable. Bea holds her palm out for him to press his own to; she can tell he’s not in a hugging mood. Thankfully he does. It’s sweaty and Bea can tell he’s been sitting on it to stop himself shaking.

_Time to try and make things better._

_“_ We’re not going back to them.”

Bea goes on to explain the plan, that Honey and Mustard are going to help them find a place to move into. A place of their own away from her parents.

Allister is hesitant at first, but warms considerably when told he’s free to explore his favourite haunt while Bea faces her parents one last time.

“I’m going to tell them I’m going to train you myself,” Bea concludes, watching her brother’s face as best she can. He’s not going to remove his mask with other people around but she can tell well enough what he’s thinking.

“You…th-think…they’ll b’lieve you?”

Bea nods in what she hopes is a reassuring manner.

“What better way to prove my skill than to train someone else? It’s perfect.”

“Are you gonna…actually do it?”

“Train you? No,” Bea says quickly. “Not unless you’re comfortable doing so.” She leans in closer, taking his hand tentatively; he flinches ever so slightly but sinks into it after a second. “My father once told me I couldn’t be dependent on them forever. We’ll be free, Alli. _You’ll_ be free. What do you think? I know it’s really sudden and I wouldn’t ask unless I…”

“Y-yes……please.” His voice is barely above a whisper but to Bea it’s the clearest thing in the world.

“Thank you, brother.” Bea straightens herself. “Let’s go pack, okay?”

“Mmhmm…”

The two walk out of the kitchen (Bea catching Avery attempting to hide the patterned hanky he was dabbing his eyes with). Honey is more open, beaming and wishing them the very best.

“Hey, you know if you really want to stick it to them…you could always become a gym leader too. Make Stow-on-Side a dual gym. Not just fighting but ghost as well.”

“G-get outta here…” Allister mumbles, though Bea can tell he’s actually considering it.

Half a joke, half serious, who knows what the future will bring?

Bea’s parents are livid at first, their daughter returning home from training early; Bea’s internal smugness is off the charts when they roll right over on receiving a letter of approval direct from the Master.

She moves her limited possessions to their new place herself, Allister and Mimikyu materialising once they’re sure Bea’s parents aren’t ready to jump out at them. Mustard and Honey act as witnesses to her official adoption of him, and Bea isn’t ashamed to admit she cries that day.

She hasn’t enough thank you’s to give to the Master and his wife, but they simply smile.

“Just live your life. Maybe come back one day, eh? Those towers aren’t going anywhere!”

Bea promises she will, not out of obligation but because she _wants_ to. 

After so long of being unsure, Bea and Allister are finally walking their own path. Said path was never going to be easy, or without challenges for them to overcome. What brother and sister don’t disagree on things now and then?

Allister’s road to becoming a gym leader in particular is fraught with hardship, but eventually he too gains a title. Her parents disapprove but what can they do?

Bea is 18 and there are no strings on her puppet. The threads of fate are cut and her mountainous fortress has been repurposed with room for one more.

She’s a sister through and through.

The road might be rocky and winding but she’d have it no other way. Better that than a road so cultivated she doesn’t even get to decide the pace.

Bea is 18 and she’s finally free.

**Author's Note:**

> If you read all 25,000 ish words of this, thank you. I hope you enjoyed my silly little fic ^_^. I didn't intend to go overboard but I really wanted to do a character study of my favourite gym leader. Couldn't resist.  
> I made the conscious decision to style this in a hybrid of the present particple to differentiate this from Bea-ing a Sister, so if it reads strangely I apologise!
> 
> This also acts as a backstory for 'Bea-ing a Sister', to which I sincerely apologise for not having worked on for some time. I explain on my blog as to why exactly this is, but the main reason was getting Covid-19 myself. Even 'recovered' things take a lot more effort than they did before.
> 
> I hope you can allow me to work at my own pace for this.
> 
> Thank you, and be kind to yourself and to others. Take your days one step at a time!


End file.
